THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 

PAUL  TURNER,  U.S.M.C.R. 

KILLED  IN  ACTION,  SAIPAN 

JUNE,  1944 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/annepedersdotterOOwieriala 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 


ANNE    PEDERSDOTTER 


A  DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS 


BY 

H.  WIERS-JENSSEN 


ENGLISH  VERSION   BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 


N6N-R£l^ERn 


bqWVAD'QHS 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1917 


Copyright,  igi7, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


AU  rights  reserved 
Published,  September,  191 7 


SET  TJF  AMD  ELECTROTVFED  BY  THE  PLDIPTOM  PRESS,  NORWOOD,  IfASS.,  U.S.A. 
PRINTED  BY  S.  J.  PARKTm.T.  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


Q 

Q 

a 


PT 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 


602566 


CHARACTERS 

Absolon  Pedersson  Beyer.  . .  Palace    Chaplain,    Ber- 
gen; 60  years 
Martin His  son  by  former  mar- 
riage; 25  years 

Mbrete  Beyer His  mother;  80  years 

Anne  Pedersdottbr His  wife;  22-23  years 

Jens  Schelotrup Bishop 

Master  Klaus Priest  in  Manger 

Master  Laurentius Priest  in  Fjeldberg 

Master  Johannes Priest  in  Fane 

Master  Jorgen Priest   in   St.  Martin's 

Church,  Bergen 

David Choirmaster 

Leader  of  Town  Guards 

Herlofs-Marte 

^^NTE    I jyjaj^j  servants  in  Abso- 

•^o«^^  J  Ion  Pedersson's  house 

Sacristan 

Priests,  Officials,  Guards,  Clerks,  Men,  Women, 

and  Children 

The  action  takes  place  in  Bergen  in  the  year  157 J^:  the 
first  three  Acts  in  Absolon's  house,  the  last  in  the  choir  of 
the  Cathedral. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

THE  FIRST  ACT 
SCENE  ONE 

Bells  at  start.  Garden  at  the  back  of  Absolon  Beyer's 
house.  To  the  right  (for  the  audience)  the  house,  with 
porch  before  it;  three  ofr  four  steps  lead  up  to  this 
porch  from  the  garden.  Farther  in  the  background  is  an 
outhouse.  A  narrow  passage  runs  between  the  house  and 
this  outbuilding.  To  the  left,  in  the  foreground,  a  simple 
wooden  table;  behind  it  a  bench,  and  at  each  end  a  chair. 
Trees.  In  the  background  a  wall  stretches  across  the  stage; 
in  the  wall  is  a  large  gateway  with  a  single,  iron-studded 
wooden  door.  The  arched  gateway,  as  well  as  the  whole 
wall,  is  capped  unth  tiles.  A  couple  of  steps  lead  from  the 
gate  down  into  the  garden.  Outside  the  wall  are  seen  the 
street,  a  mountain,  and  the  sky.  The  wall  extends  to  the 
left,  where  it  can  just  be  seen  between  the  trees. 

It  is  an  afternoon  in  the  early  spring.  Near  the  close 
of  the  first  act  the  twilight  falls.  As  the  curtain  rises,  bells 
are  heard  ringing. 

Anne  Pedersdotter,  Merete  Beyer,  Bente  sit  at  the  table 
to  the  left,  mending  clothes.  From  a  large  beer-jug  they 
take  a  draught  now  and  then.  Anne  sits  farthest  to  the 
right.  Merete  and  Bente  on  the  bench.  In  the  speeches  of 
the  two  old  women  there  is  an  undercurrent  of  venom  far 
more  bitter  than  the  words  they  utter,  and  at  the  same  time 
an  anxious  cautiousness  lest  they  should  venture  too  far. 


6  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MERETE  (holding  a  shift  up  to  the  light) 

This  shift  of  yours  is  worn  very  thin,  Anne  Peders- 

dotter.     It's  no  use  putting  in  another  patch.     (Lays 

it  down.     Begins  on  skirt) 
BENTB  (tentatively) 

Anne  Pedersdotter  has  a  fancy  for  that  old  shift. 

MERETE 

Ah?    Why? 
BENTE  (still  working) 

It's  one  of  the  two  she  brought  with  her  when  she 

came  here  as  a  bride. 

ZAnne  bends  lower  over  her  work. 
MERETE  (looks  at  Anne,  and  feeling  that  it  is  best  to  draw 

in  her  horns,  says  to  Bente) 

Ah,  be  quiet,  Bente.     My  son's  wife  came  of  good 

stock,  though  they  were  poor. 

BENTE 

Well,  well.  I  say  nothing  against  anybody.  No 
shame  in  being  poor.  If  only  one  has  one's  good  name 
and  that.     (Drinks) 

MERETE 

If  my  son's  wife  were  less  of  a  suffering  martyr,  she'd 
snap  your  head  off,  Bente.  You're  too  bitter  with 
her.  You  nag  her  all  day  long.  It's  too  much, 
Bente.     Leave  the  girl  alone,  or  you  and  I'll  fall  out. 

BENTE 

Tut,  Merete  Beyer.     We've  been  friends  these  fifty 
years.     You  and  I  aren't  going  to  quarrel  for  Anne 
Pedersdotter. 
ANNE  (lays  aside  her  work,  and  rising) 

Thank  you  for  standing  up  for  me,  Merete.  You 
needn't  bother  yourself.  Bente's  words  don't  concern 
me  in  the  least. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 


BENTE 

Why  should  they  concern  you?  I've  been  used  to 
say  what  was  at  the  end  of  my  tongue.  {To  Merete) 
When  I  was  with  your  sainted  husband  —  God  rest 
his  soul  —  and  {to  Anne)  when  the  sainted  Vibeke  was 
mistress  here,  what  I  said  wasn't  so  lightly  held. 
Well,  well.  They  say  an  old  back  doesn't  fit  new 
harness. 
MERETE  {looks  ot  Anne  to  see  if  she  will  retort.  But  she 
remains  silent) 

That  may  be,  Bente.     But  nor  does  a  new  wife  fit  an 
old  house.     Remember  that,  Bente. 
\_Bente  growls.    Anne  goes  to  hack  qf  S.    Bells  ring,     'k 

MERETE 

Where  are  you  going?    {Anne  does  not  answer)    Did 
you  hear  me? 

ANNE 

Yes. 

MERETE 

Where  are  you  going?  \ 

ANNE 

Nowhere. 

MERETE 

Have  you  darned  the  hose  yet? 

ANNE 

No. 

MERETE 

I  don't  leave  my  work  unfinished. 

ANNE 

I  must  move  about.     The  air's  close.     It's  stifling. 

BENTE 

Spring  air  generally  is. 


8  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ANNE 

I  wonder  if  the  French  grapes  will  ripen  in  the  Bishop's 
garden  this  year. 

MERETE 

Perhaps  you  think,  because  the  air's  close,  that  I  and 
Bente  will  darn  your  hose  for  you. 

BENTE 

Anne  Pedersdotter  probably  thinks  one  can  get  help 
for  anything  one  can't  do  oneself.  (In  a  low  tone) 
No  matter  what  sort  of  help.  That  was  her  sainted 
mother's  idea.  And  she  was  right. 
ANNE  (has  been  listening  to  the  noise  outside,  and  has  not 
heard  Bente' s  words) 
What's  that  noise?    They're  shouting  and  crying. 

MERETE 

It's  the  Dutch  stevedores  fighting  at  the  inn.     Hardly 

a  day  passes  but  there's  fights  and  bloodshed  down 

there. 

[^Cries  are  heard  outside,  but  at  a  distance,  only  now  and 

then  increoMng  in  strength. 

ANNE 

No.    It's  not  from  there.     They're  shouting  on  the 
common. 

MERETE 

Well,  let  them  shout,  in  God's  name.     Let  the  drunken 

beasts    shriek    themselves    hoarse.     Then   they'll    be 

quiet,  probably. 
BENTE  (starts  up  in  terror) 

Lord  have  mercy!    Is  it  a  fire?    The  wind's  blowing 

straight  here. 
MERETE  (rising) 

In  the  name  of  Christ! 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  9 

ANNE 

No!  No!  Those  are  the  bells  for  evening  service. 
No!    Something  else  is  the  matter. 

SCENE  TWO 

As  before.     Jorund  enters. 

JORUND  (rushing  from  the  house  before  Anne  has  finished 

speaking,  wailing) 

Lord  have  mercy  on  us!    Satan  is  loose. 
OTHERS  (hurrying  towards  her) 

What  is  it? 

JORUND 

I  went  to  the  door  to  hear  what  all  the  noise  and 
running  meant.     Then  Kristense,  the  tanner's  — 

OTHERS 

_Yes?    Well? 

JORUND 

They're  going  to  take  a  witch  on  the  common. 

OTHERS 

Lord  a  mercy! 

JORUND 

The  guards  are  there,  oh,  and  crowds.  Kris  said 
they  could  see  the  witch.  She  were  out  on  the  roof, 
calling  the  Devil.  He  may  blast  the  guards  with 
fire  and  brimstone.     And  us,  too,  God  help  us! 

MERETE 

Shall  we  never  be  rid  of  witches?  We  burnt  six  at 
the  stake  only  two  years  back. 

BENTE 

God  spare  us.  The  Devil  begets  new  ones.  All  round 
us. 


10  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MERETE  (folding  up  the  clothes) 

Let's  lock  ourselves  in  and  read  the  Bible.     God'U 
guard  us  till  Absolon  comes  back.^ 
[^David,  Choirmaster,  enters,  running  into  the  garden 
from  the  hack. 

DAVID 

The  blessing  of  God  on  you.  Is  Master  Absolon  back 
yet? 

MERETE 

The  blessing  of  God  on  you,  David  Choirmaster. 
No,  Master  Absolon  is  still  at  the  castle  with  Sir 
Rosenkrantz. 

DAVID 

When'll  he  be  back? 

MERETE 

Not  before  six.  And  we  women  are  alone  here,  with 
the  Devil  of  hell  not  a  hundred  yards  away. 

DAVID  {coming  to  chair  C.) 

Gird  up  thy  loins,  Merete  Beyer.  The  Devil  will  be 
beaten  in  the  fight.  Oh,  my  feet  have  been  swift 
upon  the  mountains!     (Sits) 

YBente  comes  to  right  of  seat.  Merete  to  above  seat. 
Bente  pushes  beer-jug  respectfully  towards  him. 

DAVID 

Ah,  no.  Come.  Great  things  are  happening  here. 
Strange  things  to  the  glory  of  God.  (Takes  a  deep 
draught  of  ale)  Thanks  for  God's  good  gifts.  Well, 
they're  arresting  Herlofs-Marte. 

*  The  fear  and  anxiety  of  the  women  must  not  at  any  point  be  made 
to  appear  ridiculous.  They  were  fully  justified  in  their  terror  by  the 
idea  of  the  time. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  11 

ANNE  (advancing) 

Herlofs-Marte?     I    know   Herlofs-Marte.     She    lived 
on  the  common.     Mother  and  I  lodged  with  her. 
\^The  others  look  anxiously  at  her. 

DAVID 

I'd  advise  you  not  to  say  much  about  that  just  now, 
Anne  Pedersdotter.  The  city  guard  and  half  the 
town  are  surrounding  that  house  on  the  common. 
They're  going  to  take  it  by  storm.  She'll  be  tried  for 
the  witch  she  is. 

BENTE 

So  that's  what  it's  come  to.    Jesus,  Mary,  and  all  the 
saints!     (Sits  chair  R.) 
DAVID  (starts  up) 

Pah!  Fie!  Popish  blaspherdy.  You  may  come  to 
suffer  in  the  cellar  of  the  Council  House  for  idolatrous 
talk  like  that. 

BENTE 

Ah!  God  forgive  me,  David.  It's  old  habits.  I  am 
Lutheran  at  heart,  but  the  tongue  is  wickedly  popish, 
without  God  bridles  it. 

MERETE 

What  about  Herlofs-Marte? 

DAVID 

She  was  formally  accused  this  morning  by  three 
honourable  women.  And  their  husbands  were  present 
and  swore  to  what  was  said.  God  be  praised  and 
glorified  that  we  can  rid  the  town  of  them  that  hate 
Him. 

MERETE 

Amen.    Amen.    Praise  Him  and  magnify  Him  for  ever. 

ANNE  (affected  like  the  rest) 
What  has  she  done? 


12  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

DAVID 

Well!  What  has  she  not  done?  Blasted  Tolmer 
Piper's  eldest;  milked  blood  from  Skriver's  cow,  and 
given  a  hard  birth  to  two  women  in  childbed.  All 
because  they  wouldn't  lend  her  butter,  or  something. 
MERETE  (loith  great  seriousness) 

That  the  Devil  can  have  such  power! 

DAVID 

And  us  with  the  true  doctrines. 

BENTE 

He  goes  about  like  a  roaring  lion.     (Folds  her  hands 
arid  sings  with  strong  but  trembling  voice) 
"But  he  that  doth  exalt  the  Lord 
The  Lord  shall  save  alway-a. 
The  moon  by  night  him  shall  not  smite, 
Nor  yet  the  sun  by  day-a." 
MBBETE  (before  Bente  has  finished  singing) 
The  Council  lost  no  time. 

DAVID 

No.  Thank  God  (rises)  that  they  are  prompt,  those 
gentlemen,  when  it  concerns  God's  kingdom.  When 
they  had  heard  the  evidence,  they  ordered  the  guards 
to  Marte's  house  at  the  double. 

BENTE 

Yes.     You  must  pounce  to  catch  fleas. 

DAVID 

Ah!  He  might  have  taken  her  confession.  That 
man  of  Glad  always  had  great  power  with  witches. 
Can't  we  send  for  him? 

MERETE 

Disturb  Sir  Rosenkrantz  at  his  prayers?  No,  David. 
[Distant  cries  and  heavy  blows.     Cries  have  also  been 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  13 

heard  during  the  foregoing  conversation.     The  speakers 

have  then  paused  in  their  speeches,  the  tone  of  the  whole 

being  affected  by  the  interruptions. 
DAVID  {has  risen) 

There!     Hark!     {Turns  and  goes  up  stage)     They're 

storming  her  house. 

[_All  much  affected. 
JORUND  {at  gate) 

And  the  witch.     She's  up  by  the  skyhght,  calling  fire 

out  of  the  air. 

BENTE  {up) 

And  a  south  wind  blowing. 

MERETE 

Is  there  no  one  there  from  the  church  to  pray  against 
her.'* 

DAVID 

Only    Lucas,    the   organist.     But   the   priest   of   St. 

Martin's  has  been  sent  for,  and  ought  to  be  bringing 

Master  Absolon.     I  mustn't  wait  Jonger.     Tell  Master 

Absolon  the  instant  he  comes  from  the  castle.     I  must 

run.     God  save  us  all! 

[^Goes  out  of  the  gate  to  L.  and  is  heard  going  to  the  right. 
MERETE  {calling  after  him) 

Wait,  David.     I'm  coming.     We  can  see  her  taken. 

There'll  be  no  fire  out  of  the  air. 

[^Throws  a  shawl  about  her. 
BENTE  {hastily  folding  up  her  work) 

Beelzebub  has  power  in  the  air. 

MERETE 

Are  you  coming  too,  Anne  Pedersdotter? 

ANNH 

No,  I'm  not. 


14  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

BBNTE 

No.    Anne  Pedersdotter  has  probably  no  great  wish 
to  see  Herlofs-Marte  caught. 

ANNB 

Some  one  must  be  here  to  tell  Absolon  when  he  comes. 
[^Merete  and  Bente  hasten  out  through  the  gate,  and  are 
heard  going  to  the  R. 
JOBUND  {can  hardly  stand  still  from  fear  and  curiosity) 
May  I  go  too,  Anne? 

ANNE 

Yes.    Go. 

JORUND 

Oh,  what  times  we  live  in!    Well,  thank  God,  she'll 

be  burned  to  a  cinder. 

[_Exits.    Anne  shuts  gate,  then  comes  down  to  chair  C. 

SCENE  THREE 

The  same.    Anne  alone.    Anne  tries  to  arrange  the 
garments,  then  throws  them  in  disorder  up  into  the  large 
basket  on  the  table.     The  foregoing  scene  has  brought  her 
into  a  condition  of  alarm  and  anxiety. 
ANNE  (in  a  low  voice) 

Burn  Herlofs-Marte!  Burn  Herlofs-Marte! 
[^Herlofs-Marte  appears  in  the  passage  between  the  house 
and  outbuilding.  A  little  woman,  old  and  wrinkled, 
(J)out  78  years  old.  Face  wild  and  white  vnth  terror; 
clothes  in  rags;  hands  bloody.  She  glides  a  few  steps 
silently  forward,  and  speaks  in  a  low  voice. 

MARTE 

Anne! 
ANNE  (turning,  looks  in  silent  horror  at  Marte,  and  says 
half  aloud) 
Herlofs-Marte! 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  15 

MARTE  {at  L.  of  wall;  beckons  her  nearer) 
Help  me,  can  you? 

ANNE 

I  don't  know. 
MARTE  (coming  nearer) 

You  must.  You  can't  drive  me  straight  to  death. 
Anne.     Help  me.     You  must! 

ANNE 

How  can  I? 

MARTE 

Oh,  you  can.  It's  only  just  to  show  me  a  place. 
When  they  broke  in,  I  went  straight  through  the 
cellar  and  hid  in  the  passage.  They  passed  close  to 
me  when  I  was  in  the  ditch.  Then  I  got  through  the 
hedge.  Look  at  my  hands,  Anne.  (Stretching  out 
her  hands,  from  which  the  blood  is  dripping)  Then  I 
came  here.  I've  been  here  ever  since  David  came. 
God  in  heaven,  have  mercy!  God  sent  them  away. 
Anne,  you  must  help  me.  I  helped  your  mother. 
It's  only  just  to  hide  me  till  dark.  Anne!  Anne! 
They'll  burn  me  on  North  Point  if  you  don't. 

ANNE 

Marte,  I  daren't.  There's  Absolon,  my  husband. 
Remember  him. 

MARTE 

For  the  sake  of  Christ's  dear  wounds,  Anne.  Hark! 
They're  shouting  again.  Anne!  It's  death.  It's 
death.  They'll  burn  me  if  they  catch  me.  (Almost 
kneeling,  she  entreats,  catching  hold  of  Anne's  dress) 

ANNE 

Will  you  swear  by  God's  blessed  death  and  Word 
that  you're  not  a  witch? 


16  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTE 

Not  a  witch?  (A  short  pause;  she  glances  from  side  to 
side  in  terror)     I  don't  know. 

ANNE  (tearing  herself  free) 
God  save  us  all! 

MARTE  (rising) 

You  hold  your  tongue.  Do  you  know  when  the 
Devil  may  come  to  you?  Do  you  know  how  he 
tempts?  Do  you  know  how  he  had  your  mother  in 
his  power?    Do  you  know  how  he  may  get  you? 

ANNE 

Get  out  of  here,  Marte.  Or  I'll  call  at  the  gate  that 
you're  here. 

MARTE 

You  wouldn't?  Anne,  you  can't.  You  do  it,  and  I'll 
accuse  you.  Your  mother  got  off  because  you  were 
her  child.  But  you  shall  burn  too,  if  you  give  me  up. 
(She  crawls  towards  steps  at  L.)  Oh,  no,  no,  don't 
listen  to  me.  I'm  mad  with  terror.  (Sinks  down) 
I'm  old.  I've  palsy.  If  they  torture  and  burn  me! 
[^Sinks  on  steps,  staring  with  chattering  teeth  and  hands 
clasped  round  her  knees.     Bells  ring. 

ANNE  (slowly) 

You  say  that  my  mother  — 
MABTE  (rousing  herself) 

No,  no.     Don't  listen  to  me.     I'm  mad.     Let  me  hide. 

Don't    call     them.     For     God's     sake!     For     God's 

precious    blood    and    wounds!    Have    mercy,    Anne. 

You  may  need  mercy  some  day. 
ANNE  (turned  away) 

Hide,  then.     Get  up  the  loft.     It's  dark  there.     They 

won't   look   here.     God   forgive   my    sin.     But   you 

were  a  true  friend  to  my  mother. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  17 

MARTE 

God  reward  you.  (Going  a  little  nearer  her)  God 
repay  you.  (When  about  to  go  up  a  few  steps,  her 
limbs  fail  her.  She  is  near  falling,  but  saves  herself 
with  her  hands.  In  this  position  she  says  in  an  under- 
tone to  herself)  Satan  blast  the  hounds  for  all  they 
do  to  a  poor  old  woman.  I'm  so  afraid  of  death, 
Anne.  I  was  by  when  they  burned  Maren  Gjeit. 
\_Anne  cannot  bring  herself  to  help  her.  Marte  sits  a 
moment,  with  closed  eyes,  mumbling,  unth  her  face 
turned  towards  audience.  Rises  suddenly  in  terror  and 
escapes  into  house,  grasping  the  railing  and  door-post 
for  support. 

Anne,  left  alone,  crosses  herself  on  forehead  and  breast 
and  makes  the  sign  of  the  cross  where  Marte  sat.  Her 
lips  move  in  anxious  prayer.  Goes  to  table,  seating 
herself  heavily  in  chair  to  L.  Her  head  sinks  on  her 
arms,  and  one  sees  how  her  excitement  finds  vent  in  tears. 
Starts  up  as  the  gate  opens. 

SCENE  FOUR 

The  same.  Martin,  a  somewhat  pale  young  man,  in  dark 
traveling-dress,  enters  through  gate.  His  appearance  bears 
the  marks  of  much  study,  his  face  being  rather  thin.  But 
when  he  warms  up,  it  may  be  seen  that  he  possesses  his 
fathers  strong  temperament,  and  has  also  inherited  his 
thirst  for  life.  He  remains  standing  a  moment  inside  the 
gate.  Anne  has  risen  and  looks  inquiringly  ai  him. 
MARTIN  (approaching)  , 

Good  day.     Is  Master  Absolon  in? 

ANNE 

No.     But  I  expect  him  in  every  moment.    He  is  at 
the  castle. 


18  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN 

I  am  his  son  Martin,  from  Copenhagen. 
ANNE  (recovers  little  by  little  from  the  terror  of  the  foregoing 
scene) 

You  are  Master  Martin!  Well,  welcome  back  to  your 
father's  house.  You  hardly  know  me,  I  suppose. 
I  am  Anne  Pedersdotter. 

MARTIN 

You  are  my  father's  wife? 

ANNE 

I  have  been  Master  Absolon's  wife  now  going  on  five 
years. 

MARTIN  (looks  at  her  somewhat  embarrassed  at  first,  then 
grasps  her  hand) 

As  I  wrote  to  Father  when  he  told  me  he  was  mar- 
ried, my  father's  wife  will  always  find  me  a  good,  de- 
voted son. 

ANNE  (crosses  to  steps,  bows) 

Won't  you  come  in  and  leave  your  cloak?  And  your 
luggage? 

MARTIN 

It's  not  off  the  ship  yet.  It'll  come.  I  was  in  such  a 
hurry  to  reach  home  that  I  jumped  ashore  directly 
the  ship  was  alongside  the  quay.  Perhaps  I  was  a 
little  more  excited  than  was  right  for  a  Master  of 
Theology.     (Smiling) 

ANNE 

But  won't  you  —  ?     (Pointing  to  house) 

MARTIN 

Oh,  no,  thanks.  Let  me  sit  here  and  wait  for  Father. 
ZThey  go  together  to  table.  He  above  her.  They  sit, 
he  on  the  bench  behind  table,  she,  after  removing  the  large 
basket  from  table. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  19 

MARTIN 

When  I  was  a  schoolboy,  I  used  to  like  to  sit  in  this 
corner  to  learn  my  lessons.  But  Grandmother  —  is 
she  — 

ANNE 

She's  out  too.  {Hastily;  rises)  Shall  I  draw  you 
some  ale?     We  brewed  yesterday. 

MARTIN 

There's  some  in  the  jug  here.  That'll  do.  {Anne  sits) 
I  don't  really  want  any.  {Looking  about)  The  place 
hasn't  changed  much  since  I  left.     {Moves) 

ANNE 

And  that's  nine  years  ago.  ! 

MARTIN 

Yes.     It's  nine  years.    And  you  are  Anne  Peders- 
dotter. 
ANNE  {her  manner  becomes  gradually  freer) 

Yes.  My  father  was  Peder  Gerhardson,  priest  in 
Selji.  He  is  now  at  peace  in  God.  When  he  died. 
Mother  came  to  live  here  at  Bergen,  and  Master 
Absolon  was  a  great  help  to  her.  Of  course,  he  was 
my  father's  great  friend.  My  mother  and  I  could 
never  thank  him  enough  for  all  he  did  for  us. 

MARTIN 

Yes,  God  has  made  my  father  the  instrument  of  much 
good  to  the  widow  and  the  fatherless. 

ANNE 

And  then,  when  Mother  died,  and  I  was  alone  in  the 
world,  he  brought  me  here  as  his  wife. 

MARTIN 

Yes.  He  wrote  me.  He  said  he  hadn't  chosen  his 
wife  for  her  wealth,  but  for  something  far  better,  a 


20  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

fear  of  God  and  pleasant  conversation.  {A  move  from 
Anne;  he  becomes  silent) 

ANNE 

You  had  a  good  voyage? 

MARTIN 

Better  than  we  dared  hope.  Only  four  weeks  from 
Copenhagen. 

ANNE 

We  weren't  expecting  you  for  a  fortnight.  You  have 
seen  a  lot  of  the  world. 

MARTIN 

Yes.    Father  let  me  do  as  he  did.     I've  wandered 
far  and  long.     Five  years  studying  at  Copenhagen. 
Then  for  four  years  more  at  Wittenberg.     I  took  my 
^  degree  at  Wittenberg,  like  Father. 

ANNE 

He  was  so  pleased  when  he  got  your  letter  saying  that. 
We  gave  a  thanksgiving  feast,  and  all  the  canons  of 
the  chapter  came.  —  Your  father  is  very  fond  of  you. 
(Becomes  silent) 

MARTIN 

Are  all  friends  and  relations  well? 

ANNE 

Yes,    thank    God.     Your    father    and    grandmother. 
They've  kept  well,  though  there  was  plague  and  other 
sickness  about. 
MARTIN  (looking  at  her) 

So  it's  five  years  since  Father  brought  you  here. 
He'd  been  a  widower  ten  years.  He  must  thank  God 
for  giving  him  so  good  a  second  wife.  He  is  still  a 
young  man.  And  then,  having  no  children  to  interest 
him  — 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  21 

ANNE 

But  he  had  you. 

MARTIN 

I  was  far  away,  Anne  Pedersdotter.  You  were  young 
then. 

ANNE 

I  was  seventeen.     Now  I'm  twenty-two. 

MARTIN 

And  I'm  nearly  twenty-six.  I  was  seventeen  when  I 
entered  the  University.  Father  used  to  joke  at  me, 
caUing  me  backward.  I  was  a  year  later  than  he  was. 
He  was  only  sixteen  when  he  went  up. 
[The  remainder  of  the  scene  is  coloured  by  the  dawn  of 
a  love  between  these  two,  of  which  they  are  not  conscious 
themselves.  It  sets  its  mark  only  in  a  slight  degree  on 
the  contents  and  form  of  their  speeches;  but  it  must 
appear  in  the  whole  tone  and  feeling  of  the  scene,  and 
must  be  felt,  as  it  is  the  groundwork  of  what  happens 
later. 
ANNE  (rises) 

But  shan't  I  draw  you  some  fresh  ale.''  The  ale  in 
the  jug  must  be  flat. 

MARTIN 

No.     I    don't    drink,    thank    you.     (Rises)     D'you 

know,  Anne  Pedersdotter,  the  more  I  look  at  you, 

the  more  I  seem  to  recognise  you.    And  your  voice 

too. 

[Anne  puis  down  jug  and  backs  a  step. 

ANNE 

I  can't  help  thinking  that  I've  met  you  before,  too. 
Master  Martin.  I  can't  think  whether  it'^  the  face 
or  the  voice  I  recognise. 


22  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN 

Didn't  you  live  over  there  on  the  common,   near 
Herlofs-Marte's  house? 
ANNE  (starts  on  hearing  the  name,  but  vnU  not  now  speak 
oj  Herlqfs-Marte) 
Yes.     (Backing  a  little  more  to  C.)     We  lived  with  her. 

BfARTIN 

Then  I  have  spoken  to  you.  Twice.  But  you  won't 
remember. 

ANNE 

No.     I  don't  remember. 

MARTIN  (laughing  softly,  coming  C.  to  her) 
I  was  a  boy  then.  We'd  been  having  fun  with  a 
town  guard  who  was  drunk.  He  came  after  us, 
lashing  out  at  us.  He'd  have  locked  us  up  if  he  could 
have  caught  us.  The  others  dodged,  but  he  nearly 
got  me.  There  was  a  little  girl  at  Herlofs-Marte's 
door.  She  called  to  me,  and  beckoned.  So  I  rushed 
into  the  house,  and  before  the  guard  could  get  me, 
she  nipped  me  into  a  passage  leading  through  the 
gardens.  Leading  right  up  to  here.  Just  to  where 
we're  sitting.     Do  you  remember  that? 

ANNE  (slowly) 
No.    I  don't  remember  that.    It  wasn't  then. 

BfARTIN 

Then  you  must  remember  the  other  time? 

ANNE 

When  was  that? 

MARTIN 

One  Christmas,  I'd  disobeyed  Father,  and  gone  with 
the  choir  boys,  singing  carols.  We  went  to  Herlofs- 
Marte's  house,   to   your   mother.     You   gave   me  a 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  23 

penny  and  some  sweets,  because  you  said  I  sang  best. 
It  must  have  been  you.    Do  you  recollect  that  now? 

ANNE 

Yes.     I  recollect  that  very  well.     So  that  was  you? 

MARTIN 

Yes.     I  was  eleven  years  old,  then. 

ANNE 

I  was  eight.  You  sang  carols  in  Norwegian  and 
Latin.    You  had  such  a  high,  clear  voice. 

BiARTIN 

So  you  remember  that  still.  I  wonder  if  it's  only 
fancy,  or  if  — 

ANNE 

What? 

MARTIN 

It  seems  as  if  I'd  remembered  you  ever  since  then. 
All  the  time. 

ANNE 

You  can  hardly  have  done  that.  Master  Martin. 

MARTIN 

Well,  I  remembered  the  moment  I  heard  you  speak. 

ANNE 

Well,  I  knew  you.  But  as  for  remembering  you  all 
the  time — !  Still,  I've  thought  of  you  many,  many 
times. 

MARTIN 

Thought  of  me? 

ANNE 

Very  anxiously.  Master  Martin.  Wondering  how 
you'd  behave  to  so  young  a  stepmother.  I've  cer- 
tainly brought  neither  riches  nor  honour  to  the  house. 
{Turns  aside  to  hide  the  rising  tears;  speaks  in  a  low 
voice)    As  I  hear  often  enough. 


«4  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN  (rises  and  seizes  her  hand) 

Anne  Pedersdotter,  I  don't  know  you.  Not  very  well. 
But  I  believe  you've  made  my  father  happy,  which 
is  more  than  my  sainted  mother  did.  You  needn't 
be  anxious  about  me.  I  shall  help  you  and  be  as 
good  a  son  to  you  as  you  can  wish.  I  know  it's  hard 
for  a  young  woman  like  you  to  be  lady  of  the  house 
here;  but  I  promise  I'll  lighten  your  path  all  I  can. 
So  dry  your  eyes  and  welcome  me  home  again.  For 
now  we  know  each  other.  Don't  we?  {He  pats  her 
hand) 

ANNE  (looking  long  and  warmly  at  him) 

You've  kept  your  voice.  It's  as  pleasant  as  when 
you  went  carol-singing.     And  now  you're  my  son. 


SCENE  FIVE 

The  same.  Absolon  stands  at  gate.  He  is  a  strong 
mxin  of  about  sixty  years,  with  a  clerical  dignity  that  is  not 
oppressive;  accustomed  to  fill  the  place  he  occupies  with  the 
excessive  engagedness  and  strong  passion  of  the  Renais- 
sance. He  enjoys  talking,  and  talks  well.  Only  occa- 
sionally is  his  daily  conversation  marked  by  a  clerical  tone; 
in  him  there  is  room  for  seriousness  and  laughter.  In  his 
joy  over  his  son  there  is  a  pride  and  a  vanity  that  he  himself 
finds  a  trifie  amusing.  Now  he  stands  in  the  gateway, 
looking  at  the  two.  The  light  falls  in  such  a  manner  that 
he  does  not  at  once  recognise  his  son. 

ANNE  (turns,  and  hurries  towards  Absolon,  almost  as  if 
seeking  protection) 
Absolon.    Here's  your  son. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  25 

ABSOLON  {extending  his  arm) 

Mi  fili.  Delicium  animae  meael  A  happy  return  to 
you!  (Martin  hurries  towards  him.  A  long  and 
hearty  embrace.  Absolon  holds  Martin  from  him)  Let 
me  look  at  you.  My  dear,  dear  boy.  How  you've 
grown!  The  lad's  become  a  man.  A  little  pale  after 
the  voyage  and  the  studying.  You  must  eat  and 
grow  strong  here.  (Anne  comes  down  L.C.)  We  must 
have  you  strong  for  labour  in  the  Lord's  vineyard. 
And  what  a  surprise  you've  given  us.  We  didn't 
expect  you  for  a  fortnight. 

MARTIN 

We  had  wonderfully  fair  winds.  Skipper  Gaute  says 
it  was  the  quickest  passage  he  ever  made. 

ABSOLON 

Well,  well.     Thank  God  for  it.    But  haven't  you  had 

anything  to  eat  and  drink? 
ANNE  (standing  close  to  her  husband) 

I  asked  him;   but  he  refused. 
ABSOLON   seizing  her  hand,  says  urith  strong  emphasis) 

And    this    is    my    wife,    Anne    Pedersdotter.     We've 

been  married  now  nearly  five  years. 

IMARTIN 

Yes.  I've  been  talking  to  her.  I  wished  you  happi- 
ness in  my  letters.  I  wish  it  again  now.  Since  I've 
seen  my  stepmother,  I'm  sure  my  wish  for  your 
happiness  has  been  granted. 

ABSOLON 

Thanks.  Thanks.  My  dear  boy,  how  glad  I  am  to 
hear  you.  Come.  Sit  down  here  by  me.  (Martin 
sits  at  L.  of  table.  Anne  gets  jugs,  exit  L.  I.  E.)  Anne 
will  fetch  us  some  ale.  We  brewed  yesterday.  Or 
would  you  rather  go  in?    I  like  to  —  (sits  on  bench) 


26  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

sit  here.  The  air's  so  mild.  Mi  fill.  It's  as  if  you 
brought  my  youth  back.  From  Copenhagen  and 
Wittenberg.  (Absolon  has  now  seated  himself  on  bench. 
Martin  on  chair  to  L.)  Magister  theologiae,  cum  lavde 
egregia.  And  thanks  for  all  your  letters.  I  read  every 
one  before  the  Chapter.  The  good  gentlemen  were 
surprised  at  your  learning.  Most  of  it  was  a  cut 
above  them. 

[^Anne  has  already  been  in  and  now  returns  toith  two 
tankards,  and  sets  them  on  table. 

ABSOLON 

Eh?  Ha,  ha!  There.  Thank  you,  Anne.  Now. 
Drink  your  welcome  home  with  your  father  and 
mother.  Welcome  home  again.  And  may  the  Lord 
God  give  you  strength  for  your  coming  labours. 
(They  drink.  Anne  sits  R.  of  table)  Ah!  it's  good  to 
have  a  drink  after  the  long  sermon  at  the  Castle. 

MARTIN 

You  were  preaching  to  the  Castellan? 
ABSOLON  (after  motioning  Anne  to  a  place  beside  him) 
Preach?  Yes.  A  sermon  the  good  Sir  Rosenkrantz 
will  remember.  He  and  his  lawyers  had  designs  on 
the  school  property.  But  I  read  him  a  lesson  that 
made  him  jump.  Oh,  a  rector  here  has  more  than 
his  doctrines  to  think  of  in  these  bad  times,  my  son. 

MARTIN 

Have  you  as  good  health  for  your  work,  Father? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  I  am  well,  thank  God.  Detmar,  the  surgeon, 
says  I  must  be  careful  with  my  heart.  It  won't 
bear  overstrain  or  excitement.  Well.  It's  borne  my 
excitements  in  the  past,  and  they've  been  plenty. 
So  it  will  probably  bear  those  still  to  come.     Eh? 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  27 

That  conclusion  was  hardly  regulis  logica,  mi  fili. 
My  son,  my  son.  I  feel  so  buoyant  and  happy  just 
because  you  sit  here  beside  me.  We  two  students 
from  Wittenberg.  (Changing  his  manner)  Do  you 
know,  thinking  it  over,  I've  wondered  if  it  was  wise, 
your  going  to  Wittenberg.  The  spirit  of  Luther's 
gone,  I'm  afraid.  The  Philippists  play  a  cunning 
game  there  where  that  man  of  God  gave  the  clear 
light.  It  might  have  been  better  if  you'd  gone  to 
Leipzig.  Still,  I  couldn't  grudge  you  Wittenberg. 
There  is  nothing  so  young  and  strong  in  all  Germany 
as  Wittenberg,  nor  any  place  so  beautiful.  When 
it's  mild  here,  in  Bergen,  in  spring,  my  old  bones  feel 
a  longing  to  be  off.  And  it's  always  towards  Witten- 
berg. Wittenberg,  eh?  But  here  I  stick.  And  it's 
as  well.  For  I've  more  than  I  can  do,  what  with  the 
school  and  the  church.  God  has  been  good  to  me. 
I'm  at  peace  with  the  world  and  at  home.  Still,  it's 
good  to  have  some  place  to  long  for.  (Absolon  has 
now  and  then  stroked  Anne's  hand.  Martin  looks  at 
the  two  with  an  annoyance  he  cannot  account  for.  Anne 
has  not  responded  to  her  husband's  caress,  but  looks 
down)  But  come.  Eh!  I'm  running  on.  It's  you 
who  ought  to  be  talking.  You  just  back  from  abroad 
with  all  sorts  of  news  — 
MARTIN  {as  if  waking) 

I've  letters  and  greetings  to  you  from  Wittenberg  as 
well  as  Copenhagen.     Professor  Reuchlinius.  .  .  . 

ABSOLON 

Is  he  alive  still?     Well,  well.     Why,  he  was  on  in 
years  even  in  my  time. 

MARTIN 

Still  alive,  and  teaching.    And  Master  Hemmingsen. 


28  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ABSOLON 

Lord!  Lord!  To  think.  Here  I  sit  shut  in  Bergen, 
and  you  come  with  messages  from  the  world  out 
there  to  shew  that  I'm  not  forgotten.  My  son,  my 
son.  This  is  a  great  day.  Anne.  My  Uttle  Anne. 
What  a  son  we  have,  eh?  Eh?  If  I  could  only  get 
out  of  school  to-morrow,  I'd  sit  at  your  desk,  I  would, 
and  let  you  tell  and  tell. 
J^Noise  and  shouts  heard  from  withovt. 

ABSOLON 

What's  that  noise? 

ANNE  (starts  and  springs  up.    Gets  round  above  seat  to  L. 
of  it) 

Oh,  Absolon.  Martin's  coming  back  was  such  a  sur- 
prise that  I  forgot  a  message  to  you.  Herlofs-Marte 
over  there  on  the  common  is  accused  as  a  witch. 

ABSOLON  (rises,  shaking) 
Herlofs-Marte! 
{^Absolon  goes  to  C.    Martin  goes  to  R.  below  table. 

ANNE 

The  Council  made  the  guards  storm  the  house.  David 
Choirmaster  ran  across  to  ask  you  to  be  present  when 
they  took  her,  in  case  she  should  confess,  or  accuse 
any  one. 

ABSOLON 

And  the  Council  has  done  that  on  its  own  responsi- 
bility. When  will  the  confounded  Council  learn 
that  it's  the  Church's  work  to  deal  with  witches. 
And  Marte's  accused! 

ANNE 

They're  storming  the  house.  That's  what  the  noise 
is.     Merete  ran  there,  with  Bente  and  David. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  Sd 

ABSOLON  (turns  to  R.) 

But  she's  a  dangerous  woman,  that  Marte.  It  is 
strange,  my  son,  how  zealous  the  Devil  has  become. 
Far  worse  than  he  used  to  be.  He  hates  our  pure 
doctrines.  He  sends  witches  among  us  to  rob  us  of 
the  Truth. 

SCENE  SIX 

As  before.     On  the  street  are  heard  voices,  that  come 
nearer.     At  the  same  time  voices  are  heard  in  the  passage. 

ABSOLON  {advancing  to  the  middle  of  stage) 

What  is  all  this.?*     What  do  you  want.? 

[Guards  and  a  couple  of  citizens  emerge  from  the  passage, 

torn  and  dusty. 
GUARD  (hastily) 

We're  looking  for  Herlofs-Marte. 

ABSOLON 

Here? 

\^Anne  has  now  moved  down  R.     Crowd  stand  by. 

GUARD 

Yes,  here.     We've  traced  her  here. 

ABSOLON 

One  would  think  it  enough  that  the  Council  sends  you 
after  witches  without  telling  the  Chapter.  Now  you 
force  your  way  into  a  priest's  house  by  a  private  gate. 
Do  you  think  I  harbour  witches? 

GUARD 

God  forbid.  Master  Absolon.  But  when  we  broke 
into  her  house  it  was  empty,  and  there's  the  little 
passage  here  at  the  back,  which  she  could  have  come 
by,  and  there  were  rags  from  her  clothes  in  the  hedge. 
[Enter  two  men  at  back.    In  the  meantime  the  gate  has 


80  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

been  opened.  Merete,  David,  Bente,  Jorund,  Lucas, 
Master  Jorgen,  men,  women,  and  children  have  crowded 
in.  Over  all,  curiosity,  excitement,  and  terror  mixed 
with  devotion.  Frightened  voices  are  heard:  "Is  she 
here?"  Merete  and  Bente  try  as  well  as  possible  to 
welcome  Martin.  Absolon  himself  is  so  strongly  affected 
by  excitement  that  he  makes  no  effort  to  assert  his  rights 
as  master  of  the  house.  Wailings  are  heard.  On  the 
wall  are  seen  boys  who  have  climbed  up. 

ABSOLON  (in  answer  to  the  speech  of  the  Guard) 

Well,  she's  not  come  here.     For  if  she  had,  Anne  .  .  . 
Have  you  seen  anything? 
[^Anne  shakes  her  head. 

GUABD  (roughly) 
And  I  say  she  has  come  here.  She  tore  her  hands 
in  the  hedge.  There  are  marks  of  blood  the  whole 
way  where  she  put  out  her  hands  to  steady  herself. 
You  can  see  the  blood  yourself.  Look  here.  Why, 
God  save  us,  here's  blood  on  the  wall! 
\jCrowd  bursts  in,  all  in  great  excitement;  as  many  as 
can  rush  forward  to  see  the  traces  of  blood.  Among  the 
voices  Guard  is  heard  shouting. 

GUARD 

Stand  back,  you  — 

[^Drives  the  people  back  to  L.  A  guard  has  in  the  mean- 
time been  up  to  the  steps,  where  Herlofs-Marte  sank 
down;  looks  closely,  then  cries  out. 

GUARD 

Here!     (All  thither.    As  the  guards  come  down,  the 
crowd  start  to  come  in)     She's  been  here.     (Upon  the 
porch)     And  here.    See?    She's  put  her  hand  on  the 
latch.     She's  in  the  house. 
\_Absolon  and  Anne  hurry  toward  house. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  31 

ABSOLON 

Who  has  given  you  the  right  to  — 

GUARD 

Are  you  drunk,  Master  Absolon?    Are  you  going  to 

stop    us    take    a    witch?     {To    his    helpers)     Jost  — 

Hendrik,  come  in  here. 

\_The  three  enter  the  house.    On  the  stage  all  tremble  vnth 

suspense. 

ABSOLON  {in  a  low  tone,  earnestly  to  Anne) 
Don't  you  know  if  she  is  in  there? 

ANNE  {speaks  with  difficulty) 

I  don't  know.     I'd  work  to  do.     I  was  alone. 

ABSOLON  {sees  that  she  is  lying;  controls  himself  and  says 
aloud) 

If  she  is  here,  she's  got  here  by  the  Devil's  help. 
{Looks  sternly  at  Merete,  who  has  come  somewhat  for- 
ward and  looks  at  Anne  as  if  to  devour  her.  Turns 
suddenly  to  Jorgen)  Master  Jorgen,  are  you  a  party 
to  these  proceedings?  When  did  the  Council  get  the 
right  to  carry  on  in  this  way? 

JORGEN 

Don't  you  preach  to  me,  Master  Absolon.  The 
Council  sent  to  the  Bishop,  and  I'm  here  by  Bishop's 
orders.  It  strikes  me  we'd  better  be  praising  God 
that  the  witch  is  taken  than  —  I'm  thinking  it's  a 
queer  Chapter,  when  its  notary  talks  as  you  do. 

ABSOLON 

Mind  what  you  say,  Master  Jorgen.  If  any  one  has 
been  zealous  against  witches  and  popery,  it's  /. 
We  live  in  bad  times  when  the  Guard  hunts  for  witches 
in  the  house  of  the  palace  chaplain. 
^A  piercing  cry  is  heard  from  house.  It  is  Herlofs- 
Marte,  who  has  been  taken.    A  shock  passes  through  all 


82 ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

on  stage.  Merete  sinks  down  on  bench.  Bente  rushes 
up  to  her.  Martin  draws  near  to  Merete,  but  his  eye 
seeks  Anne.  Anne  tries  to  conceal  herself  behind 
Absolon;  she  now  stands  close  to  side  of  porch.  The 
crowd  has  unconsciously  moved  back  from  the  house. 
In  the  terrified  stillness  bells  are  heard  ringing.  Marie's 
screams  and  the  heavy  tramping  of  the  guard  on  stairs. 
The  door  opens  and  Herlofs-Marte  appears.  A  shudder 
passes  through  all  on  stage. 

SCENE  SEVEN 

As  before.  Marte,  mad  with  frantic  terror,  strikes  in  all 
directions,  tears  herself  loose  from  the  two  guards,  falls  over 
steps,  looks  about  like  a  hunted  animal.  Hair  hanging 
about  her  face,  cap  torn  off,  clothes  in  rags. 

The  crowd  has  drawn  back  in  fear,  but  not  one  shows  any 
signs  of  pity.  Some  stand  with  folded  hands,  mumbling 
prayers.  Guards  stand  about  Marte,  but  not  so  as  to  hide 
her  from  those  on  stage. 

MARTE  (rushes  up  to  Absolon,  and  falls  on  knees) 

Oh,  Master  Absolon,  save  me!  For  God's  sake! 
For  Christ's  sake!  I  am  innocent.  I  won't  be 
burned.  Anne!  Beg  for  me.  God  blast  you  all! 
God  blot  you  out!  Absolon!  Absolon!  (Absolon 
does  not  answer.  Guard  grabs  her.  Marte  starts  up, 
hissing  and  spitting  at  him  like  a  cat)  Fie!  Get  out. 
Out,  you  drunken  dog!  Satan  take  you!  (Wilder 
and  wilder)  The  Devil  take  you  all!  (In  despair) 
Let  me  go.  I  won't  be  tortured.  I'll  confess. 
You  needn't  torture  me.  Yes.  Yes.  I've  been 
with  Satan.    Oh,  let  me  go!    I  won't  be  tortured. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  33 

I'll  tell  everything,  everything.  {Guards  again  seize 
her  and  drag  her  away.  In  a  last  fit  of  fury  she 
pushes  the  guards  aside.  Her  eyes  gleam  hysterically, 
she  pushes  her  hair  back  from  her  forehead)  You  are 
all  the  Devil's.  You're  all  the  Devil's  black  dogs. 
I  know  you.  Curse  you,  Absolon,  for  kicking  me 
out.  Curse  you,  Anne  Pedersdotter.  I  see  your 
eyes,  Anne  Pedersdotter.  You'll  come  to  what  I've 
come  to.     Curse  you  all! 

l^She  grasps  her  throat  as  if  to  choke  herself.  Crowd 
cry  out  in  terror.  Guard  seizes  her.  One  of  guards 
throws  her  over  his  shoulder  and  carries  her  to  the  gate. 
Prayers,  noise,  talk,  singing  of  hymns.  David's  voice 
is  heard:   "  Soli  deo  gloria! " 

Anne  has  sunk  down  in  Absolon' s  arms.  Martin, 
during  the  foregoing,  has  gone  over  to  her  and  his  father. 
A  highly  excited  scene.  Marte  lifted  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  guard.  About  them  the  terrified  noisy  crowd. 
Boys  on  wall  screaming  and  shouting. 
Martin,  Absolon,  and  Anne  in  foreground  to  R.;  Merete, 
Bente,  and  David  in  foreground  to  L.  Above  the  noise, 
cries,  and  psalm-singing  are  heard  the  booming  strokes 
of  church-bells. 

CURTAIN 


THE  SECOND  ACT 

SCENE  ONE 

Main  or  living-room  in  Absolon  Beyer's  house.  To 
R.  in  foreground  a  large  fireplace.  Before  it  a  large 
easy-chair  icith  footstool.  Nearer  background  against  the 
wall  a  table  on  which  stand  two  candles.  To  L.,  near 
foreground,  a  window.  A  bench  with  cushions  against 
wall.  On  wall  a  picture  of  Luiher.  Bookcase.  In  the 
background,  door;  when  open,  one  looks  into  a  narrow  hall 
with  stairway  leading  up  to  L.  To  R.  of  door  a  large 
sideboard.  To  L.  of  door  the  wall  extends  toward  fore- 
ground, and  in  it  is  a  smaller  door.  Both  doors  are  pro- 
vided with  hook  or  bar.  In  middle  of  floor,  but  somewhat 
nearer  L.  wall,  is  a  large  table.  Between  table  and  fireplace 
a  rather  large  open  space.  At  end  of  table,  to  L.,  a  large 
armchair;  to  R.,  smaller  armchairs.  Behind  table  three 
chairs;  before  it  a  bench  with  cushions.  The  table,  which 
is  laid  vnth  cloth,  is  well  provided  with  food  and  drink, 
beer  and  wine. 

It  is  evening.  Candles  are  burning  in  candlesticks  on 
the  large  table,  and  on  the  table  near  R.  wall.  Seen  with 
the  eyes  of  the  time,  the  room  is  lighted  for  a  festival. 

When  the  curtain  rises,  all  are  seen  standing.  Absolon 
at  end  of  table  to  L.;  back  of  table  Claus,  Johannes,  Merete. 
At  end  of  table  to  R.,  Anne.  Before  table,  vnth  backs  to 
audience,  Martin  nearest  Anne,  Laurentius  nearest  Absolon, 
Bente  and  Jorund  stand  somewhat  in  the  background. 
All  stand  with  folded  hands;  grace  has  just  been  said. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  35 

ABSOLON   {after  a  short  pause,  giving  up  the  devotional 

attitude) 

Thank  you  all  for  your  company.     May  God's  gifts 

be  to  your  good,  both  body  and  soul. 

^During  the  whole  of  following  scene  Absolon  gives  the 

impression   of  absent-mindedness.     When  he  joins   in 

conversation  it  is  vnth  an  effort  that  gives  his  words  a 

strained  effect. 
CLAUS  {immediately  after  Absolon's  speech) 

Thank  you,  Master,  from  all  of  us,  and  you,  too,  Anne 

Pedersdotter. 

LAURENTIUS 

And  you,  Merete  Beyer. 

[With  these  thanks  they  leave  the  table  and  seat  them- 
selves, temporarily,  where  it  may  happen.  The  women 
clear  table,  but  leave  beer-jugs  standing.  They  go  in 
and  out.  Martin  helps  Anne  now  and  then.  Merete, 
each  time  he  does  so,  emphasizes  it  vnth  a  look. 
CLAUS  {while  this  work  is  being  done) 

That  was  a  fine  fish  you  gave  us.  Master  Absolon. 
I  used  to  think  that  all  fish  like  that  got  sent  abroad. 
I  know  they  don't  come  my  way. 

LAURENTroS 

A  lot  depends  on  how  they're  cooked.     Merete  Beyer 
was  always  famous  for  that. 
JOHANNES  {has  seated  himself  on  bench  to  L.  and  taken  his 
beer-jug  with  him.     At  this  moment  no  women  are  in 
the  room) 

Yes.  You  may  thank  your  God,  Master  Absolon, 
that  you've  still  got  a  mother  to  cook  for  you. 
Anne  Pedersdotter  is  young  yet  to  know  how  to 
cook.  I  say  nothing  against  her.  But  a  master 
and  three  prebends  need  some  cooking.     But,   ha, 


S6  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ha,  ha!  then  she  gives  you  what  is  nicer  even  than 

fish,  eh? 

ZClaus  and  Laurentius  join  in  the  laughter. 

ABSOLON  (rises,  looks  at  Martin,  then  says  severely) 
My  son  is  here,  Master  Johannes. 

JOHANNES  {following  round  table  to  chair  R.) 

What  of  that?  He's  not  a  boy.  He  knows  about 
these  things.  He's  not  been  in  a  monastery  in  Witten- 
berg, has  he?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  We're  not  papists,  thank 
God.  We  can  be  happy  with  our  wives,  and  speak  of 
it  without  shame. 

[^The  women  come  in,  arrange  room  and  table.  Exeunt 
Bente  and  Jorund.  Merete  and  Anne  remain  a  short 
time. 

JOHANNES  (continuing) 
Don't  be  snuflFy,  Master  Absolon.  It's  this  wine  of 
yours.  It's  too  strong,  or  something.  (Staggers  with 
his  beer-mug  to  end  of  table  at  L.  and  seats  himself  heavily 
in  armchair  R.,  setting  mug  beside  him)  It's  so  devilish 
deceptive.  I  don't  often  have  such  wine,  Anne 
Pedersdotter,  and  I  drink  it  like  —  just  like  small 
beer.    Now  I  feel  that  I'm  a  trifle  tipsy. 

ABSOLON 

Perhaps  you'd  like  to  lie  down  on  the  bench  in  my 
study? 

JOHANNES 

Thank  you  very  much.  But  I've  stood  as  much  as 
this  before  to-day,  both  at  feasts  and  in  the  pul  —  I 
mean  at  weddings  and  funerals.  Besides,  there's  beer 
here.  Beer  puts  out  fire  —  so  'sperienced  people  say. 
MERETE  (coming  a  little  forward) 

Well,  I  and  Anne  will  say  good  night  and  go  to  bed. 
You  men  have  probably  a  lot  to  settle. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  37 

\_Anne  comes  to  L.  of  Absolon.  Laurentius  and  Claus 
rise.     Good  nights  with  thanks  and  hand-shakings. 

JOHANNES  (has  risen.     When  Anne  goes  to  him,  he  strokes 
her    cheek) 

Such  a  child.    So  young.    So  dainty.    Eh?    (Noticing 
the  others^  severe  looks)     It's  that  deviUsh  wine.     It's 
so  deceptive.     (Resuming  chair)     Well,  I  am  tipsy. 
[^Anne  and  Merete  go  out. 

ciiAUS  (sitting  at  the  middle  of  table,  at  hack) 

Well,  well.  So  this  blessed  Synod  is  at  an  end.  And 
to-morrow  we  go  back  rejoicing  to  our  parishes. 

LAURENTIUS  (sitting  on  bench  against  waU) 
I  doubt  if  old  Cluf  goes  back  rejoicing. 

CLAUS  (indulgently,  chuckling  to  himself)    ' 

No.  He  didn't  enjoy  your  cross-examination  about 
his  Ufe  and  teachings. 

ABSOLON  (has  been  walking  up  and  down  between  the  right 
foreground  and  door  at  back) 

One  could  shed  tears  of  blood  that  a  man  like  that 
should  be  a  priest.  Unread.  Ignorant  as  a  schoolboy. 
Leading  a  life  of  drunkenness  and  impurity.  Worse 
than  a  popish  monk  with  his  trull.  And  we  had  to 
let  it  pass  with  reprimands  and  warnings.  If  we  cast 
him  out,  there's  nobody  to  take  his  place. 

JOHANNES 

His  parishioners  are  very  fond  of  old  Cluf,  though,  all 
the  same. 

LAURENTIUS 

He  lets  them  go  on  with  their  popery.  If  we  could 
drop  in  upon  him  some  fine  day,  during  service,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  we  should  hear  him  saying  Mass, 
as  well  as  prayers  to  the  saints. 


88  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

JOHANNES 

I  daresay.    But  that's  good  enough  Christianity  for 
old  Cluf' s  lot. 
LAURENTius  (starting  up) 

Is  the  Devil  talking  through  you,  Master  Johannes? 
Do  you  dare  to  call  heathenish  popery  Christianity? 
You  should  pray  God  to  bridle  your  tongue.  (Goes 
behind  table  over  to  R.) 

JOHANNES 

There  are  many  who  should  do  that.  Many  who 
need  the  Lord  to  bridle  their  tongues.  But  there  are 
many  subtleties  in  doctrine.  Maybe  neither  old  Cluf 
nor  his  parishioners  apprehend  them  yet.  We  must 
give  them  time  and  opportunity, 
LAURENTIUS  (seats  himself  in  chair  to  R.  of  table) 

Till  Satan  takes  both  flock  and  hirehng?  D'you 
think  they'll  be  mildly  judged  on  that  day?  No. 
The  Lord  will  not  be  long-suffering  on  that  day. 

JOHANNES 

Maybe,  Master  Lars.  But  maybe,  too.  He'll  be  more 
long-suffering  than  yourself.     (Drinks) 

LAURENTIUS 

It's  a  sad  sight  to  see  you  so  drunk,  Master  Johannes. 

JOHANNES 

Drunk?    Yes.     I  am  drunk.     But  I  don't  think  it  is 
sad.     And  you  haven't  paid  for  the  drink,  anyway. 
CLAUS    (leading   the   conversation    over   to   more    neutral 
subjects) 

Yes.  Indeed,  these  have  been  serious  days.  Earnest 
days.  Very  edifying  too.  The  catechisms.  Then 
the  beautiful  ordination  service.  (To  Martin,  sitting 
near  fireplace)  Yes,  my  young  brother,  that  was  a 
fine  sermon  you  gave  after  the  Bishop  had  ordained 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  39 

you.     You  should  thank  God,  Master  Absolon,  for 

having  so  learned  a  son  as  assistant. 
JOHANNES  (to  Laurentius) 

Assistant  priest  in  the  Cathedral  —  that's  the  direct 

road  to  the  Chapter,  Master  Lars. 

[^Laurentius  makes  a  sound  like  a  spitting  cat,  then 

drinks. 
CLAUS  (quickly) 

And  then  the  witch  who  was  burnt  to-day.     Perhaps 

that  was  the  most  edifying  of  all.    Only  once  before  has 

God  allowed  me  to  see  a  witch  being  burnt.     Yes,  yes. 

It  was  a  special  providence  that  it  happened  now,  with 

all  the  clergy  in  the  town  come  up  for  the  Synod. 

LAURENTIUS 

And  then  the  Lord  letting  the  rain  stop  directly  the 
faggots  were  lit,  that  was  beautiful.  It  shewed  that 
He  was  pleased. 

JOHANNES 

It  went  hard  with  the  old  beast. 

LAURENTIUS 

So  it  did  in  Gospel  days.  When  devils  were  cast  out, 
they  struggled.     They  didn't  go  easily. 

CLAUS 

Did  she  denounce  any  one? 
ABSOLON  (painfully  affected  by  the  conversation) 
No,  no  one. 

LAURENTIUS 

Not  even  when  tortured? 

ABSOLON 

She  was  not  tortured.  She  confessed  as  soon  as  the 
pincers  were  shown  her.  She  said  she  had  known 
Satan  and  borne  devils  to  him.  But  that  she  had 
been  alone  in  it. 


40  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

LAURENTIUS 

If  she'd  been  tortured,  she'd  have  accused  her  accom- 
plices. 

ABSOLON 

The  Lord  will  reveal  them  in  His  good  time. 

LAURENTIUS 

Yes.  But  He  employs  men  as  a  means  thereto.  I 
heard  from  Peter  Espikom,  who  is  just  back  from 
Hamburg,  that  in  Germany  they've  made  some  grand 
invention  for  torturing  witches.  There's  a  wheel 
with  ropes  for  stretching  their  limbs.  It  brought  out 
the  truth  almost  every  time. 

CLAUS 

That's  very  clever,  now. 
LAURENTIUS  (to  Martin) 

You  must  be  able  to  tell  us  about  that,  Mr.  Martin. 
You're  just  back  from  the  Holy  Roman  Empire. 
But  there  you  sit  without  a  word. 

ABSOLON 

He  hasn't  quite  got  over  this  morning,  seeing  Herlofs- 
Marte  burnt. 

LAURENTIUS 

That  ought  to  have  been  a  joy  to  a  devout  young  priest. 

ABSOLON 

Well,  he  rejoiced.     But  still,  it  is  painful  for  flesh  and 
blood.     Isn't  that  so,  mi  fili? 
MARTIN  (rising) 

I'm  not  used  to  such  things.  I  never  before  saw  a 
person  burnt.  Though  my  heart  rejoices  over  the 
defeat  of  Satan,  her  screams  ring  in  my  head. 

LAURENTIUS 

It's  the  Devil  tempting  you.  You  must  pray  against 
it,  Mr.  Martin. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTEB  41 

CLAUS 

Have  you  really  never  seen  a  witch  burnt?  Can  it 
be  that  faith  is  getting  lukewarm  in  Denmark  and 
Germany? 

MARTIN 

While  I  was  in  Copenhagen  a  lot  of  witches  were 
burnt  in  Jutland.  But  none  in  Zealand.  Nor  were 
any  burnt  in  Wittenberg  while  I  was  there.  Some 
people  there  even  doubt  Satanic  possession  altogether. 

LAURENTIUS 

Just  what  I  expected.  Those  damned  followers  of 
Melancthon.  {To  Ahsolon)  You  must  look  well 
after  your  son,  Mr.  Absolon,  lest  he  bring  in  those 
false  doctrines  here, 

ABSOLON 

Well,  bodily  possession  is  not  the  corner  stone  in 
Lutheran  teaching. 

LAURENTIUS 

Not  the  corner  stone,  no.  But  a  battering  ram  that 
can  destroy  the  whole  building.  You  don't  see  it, 
Mr.  Absolon,  because  you  won't  see  it.  You've  fallen 
away  from  your  first  zeal.  {All  excited)  Oh,  yes, 
you  have.  Did  you  proceed  properly  against  that 
Herlofs-Marte?  Did  you  force  confession  from  her? 
Did  you  bid  her  denounce  any  one  while  she  was 
burning?  No.  You  drowned  her  words  with  prayers 
and  psalm-singing.  And  instead  of  rejoicing  at 
God's  victory,  you've  grieved  all  day,  as  though  you 
pitied  the  Devil  because  his  prey  was  taken  from  him. 
{^All  rise,  much  excited. 

ABSOLON 

Mind  what  you  say.  Master  Lars.  I  don't  want  to 
quarrel.     My  zeal  is  well  known. 


42  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

JOHANNES  (stands;  he  is  now  quite  drunk) 

Master  Lars,  if  you  don't  shut  your  dirty  mouth, 
may  the  Devil  fly  away  with  you. 

LAURENTIUS 

Shut  my  mouth?  When  I  see  God's  agents  halting? 
We  should  be  like  a  storm  beating  down  Satan  under 
our  feet,  and  here  we  are  like  hirelings  that  flee. 

JOHANNES 

Shut  up.  Master  Lars.  Let  Mr.  Absolon  alone. 
He'll  manage  God  and  Satan  his  own  way.  Only 
shut  your  mouth. 

LAURENTIUS 

It's  not  for  you  to  talk,  Mr.  Johannes.  You've  got 
two  or  three  in  your  parish  ripe  for  burning.  But  in 
your  heart  you're  a  papist.    That's  one  for  you. 

JOHANNES 

To  hell  with  you  and  popery.  That's  one  for  you. 
If  I  do  regret  the  Blessed  Virgin  now  and  again, 
what's  that  to  you?  I  know  you've  done  away  with 
her,  but  she  can  be  put  back.  She  was  Our  Lord's 
mother,  wasn't  she?  Eh?  Are  you  aware  of  that? 
Perhaps  you'll  invent  Him  another. 

LAURENTIUS 

And  a  man  like  you  is  to  teach  the  Truth !    An  idolater. 
A  drunken  papist. 
^Increasing  excitement. 
JOHANNES  (bending  forward  over  table,  so  that  the  two  priests 
stand,  one  at  each  end,  like  two  fighting-cocks) 
Papist  yourseK.   Who  was  i/owr  father,  eh?   Your  father 
was  a  monk.     Eh?     When  you  were  a  lad,  he  turned 
Lutheran,   and  your  mother  made  him   marry   her. 
I  know  you.     You  zealous,  sneaking  dog!     Drivelling 
in  the   Cathedral  for  your  bread-and-butter.     You 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  4S 

ought  to  have  been  a  Jesuit.  You  are  a  Jesuit.  You 
are,  I  say.  For  all  you  gabble  Luther's  catechism. 
And  to  hell  with  you! 

[^Strikes  out  with  his  hand;  falls  heavily  over  table.     All 
excited. 
LAURENTius  (trembling  with  passion) 

Do  you  allow  this  in  your  house,  Mr.  Absolon. 

ABSOLON 

You  provoked  him.  (Cross  to  below  R.  of  table)  And 
he's  drunk.     He's  drunk. 

LAURENTIUS 

And  drunk  in  your  house.  The  house  of  a  minister  of 
God. 

CLAUS 

We  all  offend  in  something. 

LAURENTIUS 

I  will  no  longer  be  the  butt  for  a  drunken  atheist.     I 
wish  you  all  good  night.     And  God's  blessings  — 
£The  others  try  in  vain  to  soothe  him.     Laurentius  hurries 
out  R.  at  back. 
JOHANNES  (at  the  same  time) 

Cut.  Get  to  hell  with  you.  Eh?  Did  he  go?  Eh? 
The  Jesuit! 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  You  drove  him  out  with  your  disgusting 
language. 

JOHANNES 

Did  I?  Eh?  Well,  that's  a  comfort.  I  told  him  to 
his  white,  foxy  face.  "You're  a  devil,"  I  said.  You 
say  that  Johannes  of  Fane  can't  preach?  Eh?  Well, 
I  shut  up  old  St.  Laurence,  that  time,  anyway.  (Sits. 
Absolon  goes  to  vdndow)  I  hope  he'll  never  find  it. 
(Strikes  table  uoith  his  fist  so  that  the  beer  splashes  out) 


44  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

Eh?  Come  on,  now.  What's  the  matter  with  a 
good  big  mug  of  ale,  to  shew  there's  no  ill-feeling? 

ABSOLON 

You  ought  not  to  have  any  more,  Johannes. 

JOHANNES 

No  more,  Mr.  Absolon?  Well,  well.  Perhaps  you're 
right.  I  suppose  I  must  go  to  my  lodgings.  They're 
the  other  side  of  the  town. 

ABSOLON 

You  can't  cross  the  town  in  your  present  state. 

JOHANNES 

What?  You  think  I  can't  walk?  D'you  think  I've 
never  been  drunker  than  this?  Get  away  with  you. 
(Goes  across  the  floor)  Just  let  me  stick  my  head  in 
the  water  barrel.  And  you'll  see  Master  Johannes, 
minister,  walks  straight's  a  lord.  Lend  me  your  arm, 
Mr.  Claus.  We'll  go  together.  Woa.  Steady.  Just  prop 
me  up,  Mr.  Martin.  Only  to  the  water  barrel.  Only 
just  to  the  water  barrel.  All  right  after  that.  Don't 
want  you  further'n  the  water  barrel.  (Leaving  iheniy 
he  goes  over  to  Absolon)  Good  night,  Mr.  Absolon. 
Thanks  for  the  d'lightful  evening.  God  bless  you. 
Gobbless  your  home.  Don't  be  angry.  What's  a  man 
to  do?  Eh?  How  can  I  say  No?  Eh?  When  I  get 
a  chance  to  get  drunk  after  labouring  in  the  blurry 
vineyard.  Well,  well,  (to  Claus)  we  all  offend  in  some- 
thing. Come  on,  then.  [Gimme  your  arm,  Claus.  Come, 
gimme  your  arm,  Martinius,  eh?  Larrin  for  Marrin. 
^Claus  in  the  meantime  takes  leave  of  Absolon.  Johannes 
between  Claus  and  Martin  goes  out  through  door  at  back. 
They  are  heard  noisily  descending  stairs.  Johannes  is 
heard  talking  the  whole  time  about  that  Jesuit  with  the 
white  fox  face. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  45 


SCENE  TWO 

The  same.  Ahsolon  alone.  A  pause.  He  looks  about. 
In  the  room  are  numerous  traces  of  the  theological  dispute; 
overturned  beer-mugs,  beer  dripping  from  table,  the  cloth 
nearly  torn  from  table,  chairs  in  disorder;   and  the  like. 

Absolon  seats  himself  at  right  end  of  table,  resting  head 
in  hands. 

Martin  enters.  He  is  ashamed  and  shocked  at  the 
scenes  he  has  been  vdtness  to;  sets  chairs  in  order. 

ABSOLON  (looks  up  at  him,  guessing  his  thoughts) 

That's  the  best  we  have.  But  you  mustn't  judge 
them  by  this.  That  drunkard  and  Laurentius  can't 
go  near  each  other  without  quarrelling.  Well,  there, 
they're  the  best  we've  got. 

MARTIN 

Perhaps.     I'm  not  judging  them. 
ABSOLON  (after  a  short  silence) 

You've  been  to  all  the  Synod's  meetings;  but  you've 
hardly  told  me  what  you  think. 

MARTIN 

What  I  had  to  say  was  so  unpleasant  that  I  thought 
I  had  better  keep  quiet. 

ABSOLON 

Tell  me. 

MARTIN 

I've  nothing  to  tell  you,  Father,  except  that  I  pity 
you  sincerely.  Forgive  me  if  I  speak  as  I  should  not. 
But  I  see  that  everything  depends  on  you.  And  you 
are  like  the  good  sower  sowing  the  good  seed  all  day 


46  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

long,  and  watering  it  with  his  heart's  blood;  and 
reaping  only  thistles  and  weeds. 

ABSOLON 

It  seems  so  to  me<  sometimes.  That  I  live  in  a  dying 
land  and  time  almost  dead.  And  that  my  weak  hands 
can  save  neither  land  nor  faith.  But  I  pray  daily  to 
be  spared  such  thoughts.  They  only  come  when  I'm 
weak  and  worried.  My  son,  d'you  know,  I've  dreaded 
your  coming  back,  for  I  knew  you'd  not  rejoice  at 
what  I've  accomplished  during  all  these  years.  Only 
thistles  and  weeds.  And  where  you  come  from  there 
are  strong  thoughts  and  great  men.  But  we  must 
pray  for  patience. 
MARTIN  (goes  up  to  him  and  grasps  his  hand) 

My  dear  Father,  don't  be  vexed  with  me.  I  am  young 
and  too  quick  to  judge.  When  I  heard  these  priests 
at  the  Synod,  ignorant,  weak  in  doctrine,  and  of  base 
life,  then  I  felt  miserable.  These  were  the  stones  of 
which  God's  Church  was  built!  I  know  I  am  wrong. 
Who  am  I  to  judge  the  labourers  in  the  vineyard.'* 
The  Lord  is  strong  even  in  their  weakness.  And  I've 
been  in  a  strange  state  of  mind  since  I  came  home; 
now  melancholy,  now  almost  too  happy.  I  think  it 
must  be  the  surging  life  of  the  spring. 

ABSOLON 

My  son,  I  am  thankful  that  you've  come  home  to  me. 
I've  been  uneasy  too,  and  yearning  —  for  I've  had  no 
one  to  confide  in  since  Bishop  Gebble  died.  I've 
been  very  lonely  since  then.  I've  had  my  work,  of 
course,  and  my  mind  runs  more  to  action  than  to 
brooding.  But  a  man  like  me  needs  a  brother  who 
can  go  in  and  out  of  his  thoughts,  and  share  his  joys 
and  troubles.     I  feel  that  I've  got  that  in  you. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  47 

MARTIN  {deeply  moved) 

Paler  carissime!  I  would  thank  God  daily  if  I  could 
be  that  to  you. 

ABSOLON  {holding  his  hands  long  and  warmly) 

My  son.  My  most  dear  son.  {Suddenly  drawing 
hack)  My  God,  what  days,  what  times!  A  man 
begins  in  strength  and  faith,  like  the  Lord's  Anointed, 
thinking  himself  a  chosen  Sower.  He  works  day  in 
and  day  out,  never  caring  for  results,  lest  he  should 
look  back  after  laying  hand  to  the  plough.  And  at 
last,  one  day,  when  you're  worn  out,  you  sit  down 
and  look  about  you,  and  it's  all  thorns  and  weeds  and 
thistles.  The  old  church  ruined,  and  no  new  one 
a-building.  There's  your  life's  work.  {Looks  at 
Martin  with  a  strange  look)  And  you  ask  yourself 
was  the  Lord  with  you,  or  did  He  leave  you  because 
you  failed  Him? 

MARTIN 

Failed  Him? 

ABSOLON 

Yes,  failed  Him.  {Is  about  to  speak;  hesitates.  At 
last,  with  a  strong  determination  to  throw  off  a  heavy 
burden)  My  boy,  there's  something  on  my  conscience. 
It  weighs  on  me  so  that  I  can  hardly  sleep.  Mr. 
Laurentius  touched  on  it  when  he  said  that  I  didn't 
rejoice  enough  at  the  death  of  Herlofs-Marte. 

MARTIN 

Did  she  denounce  anybody,  then,  after  all,  and  you 
concealed  it? 

ABSOLON 

No.     Not  quite  that.     Nobody  living. 

MARTIN 

Was  she  innocent,  then? 


48  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ABSOLON 

No.  By  rights  she  ought  to  have  been  burnt  long 
ago.  Oh,  my  son,  I've  laid  a  great  sin  on  my  soul. 
(Seats  himself  in  the  chair  to  R.  of  table)  Mr.  Lauren- 
tius  was  nearer  the  truth  than  he  thought.  I've 
become  lukewarm.  I've  fallen  from  my  first  zeal. 
A  sin  against  God  and  man. 

MARTIN 

Tell  me  about  it,  Father.    Just  as  man  to  man  or 
priest  to  priest. 
ABSOLON  (after  a  short  pause,  rises) 
Call  Anne.     It  concerns  her  too. 

MARTIN 

Concerns  Anne? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  Call  her.  I  hear  her.  She's  not  gone  to  bed. 
^Martin  goes.  Absolouy  alone,  walks  up  and  dovm  floor 
in  mental  conflict. 

SCENE  THREE 

The  same.    Martin  and  Anne  enter  from  door  to  L. 

ABSOLON  (stands  now  near  vnndow) 
You  weren't  in  bed,  Anne? 

ANNE  (with  guarded  smile) 
No.    You  made  such  a  noise,  it  was  no  good.     You 
wished  to  say  something  to  me,  Absolon? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  My  son  and  my  wife,  it'll  seem  strange,  what 
I  have  to  say,  and  that  I  say  it.  But  it  has  tortured 
me  long,  and  to-day  worse  than  ever.  I  ask  your 
forgiveness.  I  never  cease  to  ask  God's  forgiveness. 
(Hew  now  seated  himself  on  bench  behind  table.    Anne 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  49 

takes  the  chair  to  L.C.;  sits.  Martin  stands  R.  of  seat 
at  L.)  It  is  now  seven  years  since  —  No,  I'll  begin 
at  the  beginning.  Your  father  was  an  old  friend  of 
mine;  we  were  students  together.  When  he  was  or- 
dained, he  married  your  mother.  But  he  died  soon 
afterwards.  Before  you  were  born,  your  mother  was 
left  a  poor  widow.  She  found  a  good  friend  in  her 
trouble  in  another  widow,  Marte  Herlofs. 

MARTIN 

Herlofs-Marte? 

ABSOLON 

Herlofs-Marte,  yes.  They  lived  for  some  years  up 
in  Selje,  and  then  came  here.  Marte  proposed  the 
change.  She  had  relations  here;  she  thought  they 
could  help  them.  Times  were  bad  in  Bergen  then. 
The  two  women  only  had  what  people  gave  them; 
I  gave  what  I  could.  It  wasn't  much.  I  wasn't  so 
well  off  in  those  days.  If  I  had  been  —  There ! 
Well,  seven  years  ago.  Bishop  Schelderup  told  me 
privately  that  the  word  went  about  that  the  two 
widows  kept  themselves  by  Satan's  help.  They 
weren't  accused,  but  the  word  was  going  about. 
Would  I  look  into  the  case?  {Anne  and  Martin  listen 
with  increasing  horror)  I  was  zealous  then.  {With 
a  smile)  Even  Mr.  Laurentius  would  hardly  have 
complained  of  me  in  those  days.  I  went  to  Marte 
Herlofs  and  your  mother,  talked  to  them  as  God 
inspired  me,  and  the  two  women  confessed.  Yes, 
ijgoes  over  to  L.)  they  confessed.  Without  torture  and 
to  me  alone.  They  had  been  there,  hungry  and 
forsaken.  They  had  been  starving  on  charity.  So 
they  fell  into  temptation  and  invoked  the  Devil. 
Marte  had  learned  bad  arts  from  the  Firms.    Satan 


50  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

came  when  they  called.  He  came  in  the  form  of  a 
young  lord.  They  signed  a  compact  with  him  for 
body  and  soul,  and  he  taught  them  how  to  make  a 
living. 

ANNE 

And  my  mother? 

ABSOLON 

I  fear  she  was  the  stronger  of  the  two.  For  she  could 
summon  the  quick  and  the  dead.  She  could  bind  the 
wills  of  others.  She  could  strike  people  sick.  She 
told  me  herself  she  could  do  all  these  things,  and 
more.  Satan  gives  his  servants  the  power.  I  know 
what  I  should  have  done.  God's  word  is  plain. 
"Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch  to  live."  But  Satan 
came  to  me,  too.  D'you  know  what  bait  he  used? 
He  used  you,  Anne.  You  were  barely  sixteen  then, 
but  you  were  a  woman.  I  had  had  no  delight  in 
women.  Your  mother  (forgive  me,  my  son)  never 
moved  me  like  that.  But  you  were  young  and  beauti- 
ful. I  was  not  a  young  man.  But  my  blood  boiled 
in  my  veins  each  time  I  saw  you.  Had  your  mother 
been  burnt,  you  would  have  gone  the  same  road.  The 
two  women  begged  in  the  terror  of  death  for  pity. 
They  swore  on  the  Gospels  to  reform.  I  went  to  the 
Bishop  and  lied  to  him.  I  acted  against  my  Christian 
duty  and  my  oath  as  a  priest.  He  knew  I  was  zealous 
against  God's  enemies,  and  believed  me.  Then,  six 
months  later,  your  mother  died.  If  she  killed  herself, 
or  if  Satan  took  her  because  she  had  cheated  him,  I 
don't  know.  I  do  know  that  I  could  have  saved  her 
soul.  I  could  have  made  her  burning  her  salvation. 
And  now  she  burns  in  hell  for  ever.  (A  pause.  He 
goes  from  toindow  to  table,  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  51 

at  the  end  of  table.  He  continues)  My  fault!  But 
if  I  had  burned  her,  you  would  never  have  been  my 
wife.  I've  suffered  tortures  of  conscience  for  this. 
Not  so  much  of  late  years.  No.  My  mind's  been 
quieter.  You  made  me  happy,  Anne.  I  thought 
that  a  sign  that  God  had  forgiven  me.  But  it  all 
came  back  when  Herlofs-Marte  was  taken.  All  the 
old  terror.  For  when  she  was  in  prison  she  begged 
me  to  help  her,  as  I  helped  your  mother,  and  when  I 
refused,  she  cursed  me.  While  she  stood  at  the  stake 
to-day,  she  accused  your  mother  as  a  witch  and  you 
as  the  witch's  daughter.  I  drowned  her  words  in 
loud  praying  and  psalm-singing.  The  congregation 
did  not  hear  them;  but  I  heard  them.  I  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  after  that.  (Sinks  down  in  chair  to  L. 
of  table)  Now  I've  confessed.  I've  told  my  son 
that  I've  been  false  to  my  priestly  oath.  I've  told 
my  wife  that  I've  thrust  her  mother's  soul  into  hell. 
For  ever!  (Pause)  My  son.  My  boy.  Speak  to 
me. 
MARTIN  (a  half-step  forward  in  fear  and  terror) 

I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  Father. 
It's  so  —  so  —  No.  I  can't.  I  can't  think.  Don't 
look  at  me.  Father.  I  can't  talk.  I'm  only  fright- 
ened. (Absolon  has  risen)  No.  I  don't  blame  you. 
I  can't  see  it.  I  can't  think.  I  must  be  alone.  I'll 
go  to  my  room,  and  pray  to  God  for  guidance.  I 
wish  you  —  I  wish  you  good  night.  Father.  And 
you,  too,  Anne  Pedersdotter.  I  —  (Tries  to  speak; 
cannot.  Looks  about,  confused,  then  goes  out  at  door 
in  background  to  L.) 


52  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 


SCENE  FOUR 

The  same.    Absolon  looks  at  Anne.    Anne  pvis  her 
left  hand  up  to  her  cheek. 

ANNE  {after  a  short  pause) 
Did  you  love  me  so  fiercely  that  you  couldn't  do 
without  me? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.     It  was  like  being  drunk  with  your  beauty. 

ANNE 

And  so  you  took  me,  as  payment  for  — 

ABSOLON 

I've  been  a  good  husband  to  you,  Anne.  And  you've 
been  a  good  wife  to  me. 

ANNE 

Yes,  you've  been  a  good  husband.  I  couldn't  have 
had  a  better.  So  she  should  have  died  at  the  stake 
by  rights.  My  sainted  mother!  No,  I  suppose  I 
mustn't  call  her  that  now. 

ABSOLON 

Do  you  blame  me,  little  Anne? 

ANNE 

For  loving  me,  and  being  merciful  to  Mother?  No. 
I  don't  understand  these  things.  And  she  made  her 
own  choice.  I  am  wondering  whether  I  may  have 
inherited  from  her  — 
ABSOLON  (rises,  comes  below  table  to  L.  end  of  it,  starts) 
God  in  His  mercy  forbid  that!  You've  never  felt 
tempted? 

ANNE 

Never.    You  say  she  could  summon  people,  when 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  53 

she  wished,  by  her  thought  alone,  and  then  they 
would  come? 

ABSOLON 

So  she  said. 

ANNE 

That  was  a  wonderful  power  to  have.     Master  Abso- 
lon,  have  you  loved  me  since  we've  been  married? 
I  mean,  after  the  first? 
ABSOLON  (comes  to  above  Anne) 

Yes.  You  must  believe  that  of  me,  Anne.  I  wasn't 
young  when  I  married  you.  (Takes  her  right  hand) 
I've  lost  the  old  madness.  But  you  know  that  I've 
given  you  all  the  thought  and  care  that  I  could  spare 
from  my  work.     No  wife  can  ask  more  than  that. 

ANNE 

No.     Probably  not.     I  do  so  pity  my  mother. 

ABSOLON 

For  what  I  did? 

ANNE 

Oh,  no.  Not  for  that.  How  can  I  judge  that? 
But  she  probably  felt  about  things  as  I  do  —  passion- 
ately. 

ABSOLON 

Do  you  feel  passionately  about  things? 

ANNE 

You  have  known  me  for  five  years,  and  you  ask  that. 

ABSOLON 

But  you've  never  shown  me  — 

ANNE 

If  you  had  not  told  me  of  all  this  to-night  I  suppose 
I  should  never  have  shown  you.  But  now  —  (She 
stops,  nods  and  smiles,  as  if  to  say,  "Now  there  is  much 
that  becomes  clear  to  me."    Continues)    Yes,  now  — 


54  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ABSOLON 

But  aren't  you  aghast  at  what  I  told  you? 
AiWE  (clinging  to  his  hand) 

Yes,  yes,  of  course.  Still,  it's  strange,  isn't  it?  And 
what  a  great  power  to  have!  Oh,  /'//  pray  every  day 
that  I  may  never  be  tempted. 

ABSOLON 

Pray  there  may  be  no  passions  in  you  to  tempt. 

(Takes  her  in  his  arms)     But  I'll  pray  with  you,  my 

Anne.     (Holds  her) 
ANNE  (excitedly) 

Yes,  hold  me  fast,  Absolon.    Hold  me  to  you.     You 

must  protect  me  against  myself.     For  Satan's  strong. 

And  I'm  young  and  passionate.     I  believe  there's  a 

fire  hidden  in  me  —  a  fire.     If  you  would  rouse  it, 

Absolon,  it  would  warm  you  back  to  youth  again. 

(Throws  her  arms  about  his  neck) 
ABSOLON    (made   anxious    by   her   passion  —  the   ageing 

man's   displeasure   at   a   warmth   to   which   he   cannot 

respond  —  draws   back    and  gently   removes   her   arms 

from  his  neck) 

Anne,  Anne!     We  must  pray  to  God  that  the  fire 

may  be   the  cold,   clear  fire   of   light,    God's   light. 

The  fire  of  passion  —  the  bad  fire  —  is  fire  of  hell. 
ANNE  (vnth  arms  hanging  loosely  down) 

Yes.     The  bad  fire  is  hell  fire. 

ABSOLON 

Good  night,  now.     I  am  going  to  my  study  to  pray. 
May  God  forgive  me  as  you've  forgiven  me.     (Strokes 
her  gently  over  the  forehead)     Good  night,  Anne. 
ANNE  (coldly) 

I  wish  you  good  night,  Mr.  Absolon. 
[_Absolon  exits  door  to  L. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  55 


SCENE  FIVE 

The  same.  Anne  goes  round,  putting  out  candles. 
First  the  two  on  table  near  wall  at  R.  Sets  the  mugs  from 
the  table  on  sideboard.  All  in  an  agitated  manner.  Stops 
and  stares  about  in  the  midst  of  an  action.  Back  from 
sideboard,  putting  out  lights  in  one  candlestick  on  table, 
then  in  the  other,  with  one  exception;  this  one  she  evidently 
blows  at,  but  so  weakly  and  absent-mindedly  that  it  remains 
burning.  One  sees  what  goes  on  in  her  mind.  Absolon's 
words  have  revealed  alluring  depths,  have  given  an  explana- 
tion and  a  predestined  right  to  much.  They  have  revealed 
her  longing.  It  is  another  who  has  routed  this  longing; 
but  in  the  foregoing  scene  she  has  tried  to  lead  it  to  her 
husband;  she  has  been  repelled.  And  her  mother  had  the 
power  to  summon,  to  call  —  she  stops  and  says  in  a  low 
tone,  "Summon."  The  room  is  now  lighted  with  only  the 
one  candle  standing  on  the  left  end  of  table,  together  with 
moonlight  from  the  vnndow.  Again  Anne  stands  stilly 
and  repeats  in  low  tone. 

ANNE 

She  could  summon  —  Mother  could  —  summon,  and 
then  they  would  come.  {Goes  to  table,  remains  stand- 
ing, with  a  beer-mug  in  her  hand.  Speaks  half  aloud, 
as  if  trying  her  power) 

Martin!  {Stands  a  moment,  is  afraid.  Goes  to  chair 
at  end  of  table.  The  light  falls  on  her  face  as  she  speaks 
again) 

Martin!  {As  she  stands  thus  she  produces  the  phe- 
nomenon called  by  witches  to  *' summon"  or  to  "call," 
and  which  our  time  calls  hypnotic  influence.     One  sees 


56  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

it  in  her  face  when  the  moment  arrives  that  the  power  is 
called  into  action,  how  the  will  is  concentrated  and  the 
message  is  sent.  One  also  sees  when  the  phenomenon 
is  complete  she  sinks  into  the  chair  and  whispers,  half 
in  joy,  half  in  terror) 
I  can  do  it! 

SCENE  SIX 

The  same.     Martin  stands  in  the  background  and  looks 
about,  confused. 

ANNE  (stretches  out  her  arms  to  him) 
Martin! 

MARTIN 

Anne! 

[_Goes  up  to  her,  seizes  her,  and  presses  her  to  his  breast, 
groaning  in  delirium. 

CURTAIN 


THE  THIRD  ACT, 

SCENE  ONE 

Decorations  ds  in  Act  Two.  Chair  L.  of  table,  set  away 
to  L.C.  It  is  late  autumn,  about  half  a  year  since  the 
foregoing  Act.     A  wild  storm  is  blounng  outside. 

It  is  evening.  Two  candles  are  burning  on  the  large 
table.  The  room  is  fully  lighted.  A  bright  fire  is  burning 
in  the  fireplace.  Now  and  then  the  vnnd  is  heard  howling 
in  the  chimney. 

Martin  sits  at  end  of  table  to  L.,  reading  from  a  thick 
book  of  sermons;  the  Bible  lies  beside  him.  Merete  and 
Bente  sit  behind  table.  Anne  at  the  end  to  R.^  Jorund  on 
bench  before  table,  with  her  back  to  audience. 

MARTIN  (reads) 

Lord,  preserve  us  and  continue  us  in  Thy  holy  keep- 
ing. Grant  us  our  bread.  Save  us  from  plague  and 
war.  Deliver  us  from  sudden  death,  from  storm, 
heresy  and  schism.  Keep  us  in  the  true  faith,  con- 
stant in  prayer.  Help  us  in  the  hour  of  death  and  in 
the  day  of  judgment.    Amen. 

ALL 

Amen! 

^He  shuts  the  book.     All  breathe  freer,  rise  and  leave 
their  places.     A  violent  gust.    Anne  gets  beer  from  up 
C,  goes  to  fire  with  Jorund. 
BENTE  (rises) 
Hark  at  the  wind. 


58  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MERETE 

It's  a  north  wind.     They're  always  bad  here. 

BENTE 

We  shall  hear  of  accidents  after  a  night  like  this. 

MERETE 

Do  we  ever  hear  of  anything  else?  (Jorund  goes  back 
up  C.  Anne  has  gone  to  fireplace  to  set  a  jug  of  beer 
to  warm.  Jorund  helps  her)  Have  you  been  to  the 
gate,  Bente?     (Rises) 

BENTE 

Yes.    It's  locked.     (Coming  round  R.) 

MERETE 

Are  the  lamps  and  fire  out? 

BENTE 

Yes. 

MERETE 

Then  you  may  both  go  to  bed.     It's  late.     It's  after 
nine.     Nearly  half-past. 
BENTE  and  JORUND  (coming  below  table  and  up  C.) 
Good  night,  Mrs.  Beyer.     Good  night,  Mr.  Martin. 
Good  night,  Anne  Pedersdotter. 
[^Exeunt  both,  C.  to  L. 

SCENE  TWO 

The  same.     Anne  at  fireplace,  Martin  at  table,  turning 
over   his   books.     Merete   moves   about,   setting   things   to 
rights. 
MERETE  (near  sideboard) 

Absolon's  out  late. 

ANNE 

He  told  us  not  to  wait  for  him.  It  was  doubtful  when 
he  could  get  home. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  59 

MERETE 

Ye-es.  Alderman  Gert  was  always  a  rough  customer. 
God  knows  what  sort  of  an  end  he'll  make.  But  my 
son's  not  one  to  give  up  at  a  sinner's  death-bed.  He 
prays  and  he  reads  till  Grace  is  vouchsafed.  (Walking 
forward  to  vnndow  —  a  violent  gust  of  wind)  Hark  at 
the  wind.  We  do  well  to  pray.  Please  God  Absolon 
won't  cross  the  bay,  but  go  round. 

MARTIN 

He  might  have  let  me  go  instead.  I  asked  him  to 
let  me. 

MERETE 

He  might  have  let  you.  But  he  knows  Gert  better 
than  you  do.  He'll  probe  the  wicked  heart  easier. 
{To  Anne,  whose  movement  near  the  fireplace  she  has 
followed  with  hurried,  almost  stolen,  glances)  What 
are  you  doing,  Anne? 

ANNE 

Mulling  some  ale  for  Absolon.     If  he's  not  too  late. 

MERETE 

He  may  well  want  it,  in  weather  like  this.  (Goes  to 
sideboard)  If  only  he  doesn't  catch  his  death.  It 
seems  to  me  that  he's  been  failing  all  this  autumn. 

ANNE 

I  haven't  noticed  it. 

[^Martin  rises,  crosses  to  vnndow 

MERETE 

Oh,  no.     I  daresay  not. 

ANNE 

He's  never  complained,  either. 

MERETE 

No,  he  wouldn't  complain.    He  never  will. 


60  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN  {at  mndow) 

The  bay's  quite  white.  If  I  only  knew  which  way  he's 
coming,  I'd  go  to  meet  him.  I'm  anxious.  God  grant 
that  nothing  will  {goes  back  to  chair  R.)  happen  to  him. 

ANNE 

There's  not  much  use  in  your  going  to  meet  him.     If 
you  go  round,  you'll  very  likely  find  he's  rowed  across. 
MEKETE  {in  a  cutting  tone) 

And  if  you  row  across,  you'll  find  he's  walked  round. 
Anne  Pedersdotter  wants  you  to  stay  at  home,  Martin. 

ANNE 

Besides,  he's  got  the  parish  clerk  with  him. 
MAKTiN  {sitting  R.) 

Anne's  right,  grandmother.     It's  no  good  wandering 
about  the  town  in  a  pitch-dark  night  like  this.     I'll 
wait  in  for  him.     I'll  read  the  Bible.     Shall  I  read 
aloud,  grandmother? 
\^Seats  himself  at  table  to  L. 

MERETE 

Thank  you.     I  think  I'm  too  weary  to  profit  by  more 

to-day.     But  I'll  sit  up  and  wait  for  him,  too.     I  can 

do  that.     {Sits  in  chair  to  L.  of  table)     So  we'll  all 

three  wait. 

^She  folds  her  hands,  looking  straight  before  her.     It  is 

evident  that  she  sits  there  that  the  two  shall  not  be  left 

alone. 

ANNE 

Will  you  sit  up  here? 

MERETE 

Yes.     We  shall. 

ANNE 

Then  I'll  go  to  bed,  for  I'm  tired.  {Going  up  to  door 
L.    From  the  fireplace  she  goes  back  of  table  towards 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  61 

door  on  L.  A  gust  of  vnnd.  She  stops  behind  table  and 
says)     God  have  mercy  on  sailors  to-night. 

MERETB 

And  on  anybody  crossing  the  bay. 

ANNE 

You're  thinking  of  Absolon? 

MEBETE 

Yes.    And  of  you,  too,  Anne  Pedersdotter. 

ANNE 

Why  of  me?     (At  L.  of  sideboard) 

MERETE 

Oh,  I  suppose  I'm  free  to  think  what  I  please  about 
you.     You  can't  stop  me  doing  that  much. 

ANNE 

No.    They  say  "Thoughts  don't  kill." 

liEBETE 

Oh.  ,  Sometimes  they  do. 

ANNS 

Well,  then,  I  ought  to  have  been  in  my  grave  long 
ago.  Well.  Well.  I  wish  you  both  good  night. 
You'll  look  after  the  ale,  Merete? 

MERETE 

Yes.     Good  night. 

MARTIN  (towards  Anne) 

Good  night,  Anne. 

ANNE 

Good  night. 
l^Exit  door  to  L. 

I  SCENE  THREE 

The  same. 
MERETE  (listening) 
She's  bolting  the  door.    So  she's  probably  going  to  bed. 


62  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN  (going  towards  fireplace) 

Yes.     She's  tired. 
MERETE  (in  a  low  tone) 

Why  should  she  be  tired? 

MARTIN 

Won't  you  go  to  bed,  too,  (rises,  goes  above  table  to 
above  bench  at  L.)  Grandmother?  You  must  be 
tired. 

MERETE 

I  can't  sleep  till  the  house  is  quiet.  Old  people  sleep 
lightly,  you  know. 

MARTIN 

Yes,  Grandmother. 
MERETE  (about  to  say  something  quite  different  from  that 
which  she  utters) 

I  haven't  thanked  you  yet  for  your  beautiful  sermon 
yesterday. 

MARTIN 

No.     You  haven't. 

MERETE 

Well,  thank  you  now.  It  was  comforting,  though 
much  in  it  was  too  high  for  me. 

MARTIN 

Would  God  it  might  thrive  and  bear  fruit. 

MERETE 

It  will,  my  son.  It  was  sound  doctrine.  I  thanked 
God  while  you  were  preaching  that  He  had  let  me  see 
my  grandson  in  the  pulpit.  I  prayed  for  you,  Martin. 
I  prayed  God  to  keep  you  from  evil,  body  and  soul. 

MARTIN  (goes  up  to  her  and  takes  her  hand) 

Thank  you.  Grandmother.  The  Scriptures  say  "The 
prayer  of  the  just  availeth  much." 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  63 

MERETE 

If  prayer  could  avail  much,  no  harm  would  ever  come 
to  you  —  I  know  that.  (Strokes  his  cheek)  My  boy, 
my  boy.     Where  are  you? 

MARTIN 

What  do  you  mean,  Granny?  (Goes  to  L.  of  bench 
below  table) 

MERETE 

I  mean  that  you've  withdrawn  from  us.  You've 
drawn  back  into  your  shell.  All  summer  and  all 
autumn,  you  seem  to  wish  to  be  alone.  (Martin  sits) 
You  hardly  talk  even  to  your  father.  And  he'd 
looked  forward  to  your  coming  back,  and  to  have  you 
with  him,  so  eagerly. 

MARTIN 

I've  not  much  time  for  amusement. 

MERETE 

Oh.  You  have  sometimes.  (Stops)  Martin,  you 
ought  to  be  looking  out  for  a  good  wife.  You're  at 
an  age  when  it  isn't  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone.  A 
good  wife,  and  children.  The  marriage  state  is  well 
pleasing  both  to  God  and  man.  Marriage  drives  out 
Satan,  and  keeps  a  man's  heart  at  home.  Satan's 
always  on  the  watch  for  a  roving  heart,  Martin.  He 
leads  it  astray.     Into  bad  paths,  Martin. 

MARTIN 

I've  no  wish  to  be  married.     God  has  kept  me  from 
the  lusts  of  the  flesh,  so  far. 
MERETE  (looking  at  him) 

Yes,  Martin?  Yes?  Then  they  are  still  to  come. 
They  will  come.  Satan  won't  spare  you,  be  sure  of 
that.  Take  care  in  time,  Martin.  Think  of  your 
father.     (As  Martin  turns  away,  she  repeats  —  and  there 


64  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

is  a  ring  in  the  words  expressing  more  than  the  words 
themselves)  Think  of  your  father,  Martin.  See  you 
bring  him  joy,  not  sorrow.  You  have  a  rare  father, 
Martin. 

MABTIN 

I  have  indeed.  Granny.  I  thank  God  for  such  a 
father. 

MERETE 

You  ought  to,  Martin.  If  sin  should  come  —  if  you 
should  be  tempted  —  and  if  your  young  blood  made 
you  give  way  —  he'd  die,  Martin,  to  think  that 
you'd  disgraced  your  calling. 

MARTIN 

You  talk  so  strangely.  Granny. 

MERETE 

It's  because  I  think  strangely.  Old  people  do,  Martin. 
One  sees  a  lot  in  eighty  years.  One  sees  that  one 
generation  begins  where  the  other  ends.  Yet  the 
young  are  no  wiser  than  the  old.  Not  so  wise.  I 
love  you,  Martin.  But  I  love  your  father  better. 
God  gave  me  the  son  of  my  heart  in  your  father. 
I'll  defend  your  father  till  I  lie  in  my  grave. 

MARTIN 

Don't  you  think  that  I  would  defend  my  father? 

MERETE 

I  hope  so,  Martin.  That's  why  I'm  telling  you, 
now,  to  take  a  wife.  And  soon,  Martin.  If  you 
can't,  alone  by  yourself,  I'll  help  you  to  one.  (Cackles) 
MARTIN  (goes  to  chair  at  R.  to  Bibley  to  where  his  books  are 
lying,  and  turns  the  leaves) 
Granny. 

MERETE 

Yes,  Martin? 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  65 

MARTIN 

This.  Are  you  fond  of  Anne  Pedersdotter?  (Comes 
to  above  table  to  R.  of  Merete) 

MEBETE 

Am  I  fond  of  Anne  Pedersdotter? 

MARTIN 

Yes.    Are  you  fond  of  her? 

MERETE 

I'm  not  aware  that  I  ever  injured  her  by  word  or  by 
deed. 
MARTIN  (goes  nearer  to  her,  passing  back  of  table) 
But  are  you  fond  of  her? 

MERETE 

Though  the  only  sorrow  my  son  ever  caused  me  was 
his  taking  her  as  his  wife? 

MARTIN 

No.  I  know  you  are  not  fond  of  her.  (Goes  over  to 
fire  again) 
MERETE  (rises,  looks  carefully  to  the  door  through  which 
Anne  went  out.  In  a  low  voice,  but  trembling  with  a 
hate  she  can  finally,  vnth  the  best  object  in  view,  give 
vent  to) 

Fond  of?  I?  Fond  of  Anne  Pedersdotter?  No.  I 
am  not  fond  of  her.  I  never  shall  be.  That  damnable 
woman! 

MARTIN 

Granny.    Granny.    She's  father's  wife  — 

MERETE 

Yes,  she  is.  God  spare  us.  She  is.  She's  in  your 
sainted  mother's  place.  At  my  son's  table  and  my 
son's  bed.  And  how  she  and  her  mother  managed 
it,  God  alone  knows.  And  the  Devil,  Martin.  The 
Devil   knows.     God  curb   my   tongue  if  it  sins.     I 


66  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

know  all  the  talk  about  her  mother  and  Herlofs- 
Marte.  Herlofs-Marte  got  her  deserts.  Anne's 
mother  should  have  gone  the  same  road.  But, 
instead  of  that,  my  son  takes  her  daughter  to  wife. 
To  wife.  Mistress  would  have  been  too  good  for  her. 
And  he  took  her  as  his  wife  — 

MARTIN 

Granny!    This  is  sinful.    This  way  of  talking. 

MERETE 

It  would  be  sinful  to  say  nothing,  Martin.  That  she 
should  rule  here,  she!  But  she  never  has.  I've  but 
suffered  her  here  in  the  house,  these  five  years.  God 
has  given  me  patience,  and  I've  neither  shaken  nor 
struck  her.  I've  not  even  spoken  harshly  to  her, 
though  my  tongue  has  burned  to  tell  her  that  I  know 
her.  I  know  her!  And  (a  move  to  chair  at  C.)  I 
quake  with  terror  of  her,  Martin.  She  is  so  quiet. 
But  look  at  her  eyes.  Look  at  her  eyes.  They 
burn,  Martin.  Her  mother  left  her  the  Devil's 
powers  —  though  it's  all  she  did  leave  her. 

MARTIN 

You  mustn't  talk  like  this.     {Comes  below  settle  at  L.) 
MERETE  {striking  the  arm  of  chair) 

But  I  will.  It's  the  truth.  I  don't  denounce  her  for 
a  witch,  but,  Martin,  my  boy,  we  have  hell  fire  hidden 
in  the  house  here.  I  tell  you,  so  that  you  may  guard 
yourself.  God  keep  you  from  her,  Martin.  I  hate 
her  and  fear  her.  I  don't  know  whether  I  hate  her 
or  fear  her  most. 
[4  pause. 

MARTIN 

God  forgive  you.  Granny.  You  are  angry  because 
father   married   again,   and   Satan   has   turned  your 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  67 

heart.  Otherwise  you'd  never  talk  so  against  an 
innocent  woman. 

MERETE 

Innocent!  You're  a  child.  {Martin  goes  up  to  hack. 
Merete  is  again  seized  with  anger)  You  may  be  a 
learned  priest,  Martin.  I'll  listen  to  you  when  you 
preach.  But  don't  try  to  teach  me  the  truth  about 
things  like  this.  Well,  {moves  to  above  L.  of  table) 
there,  I've  said  my  say.  I'll  go  to  bed.  {Goes  up  to 
him  and  says  gently)  Good  night,  Martin.  {Pats 
him  on  back)  Your  granny  loves  you,  Martin.  More 
than  you  think.  Good  night.  God  keep  you,  Martin. 
Now  and  always. 

^Martin  takes  a  step  to  her,  and  she  comes  to  him. 
She  exits  door  at  back. 

SCENE  FOUR 

The  same.     Martin  comes  to  settle  at  L.C;  sits.     Alone. 
A  pause.     Then  he  speaks. 

MARTIN 

It  is  not  true! 

[^Anne  comes  cautiously  in  through  door  at  L.  She  has 
taken  off  her  cap;  is  otherwise  fully  dressed.  When 
she  sees  that  Martin  will  talk,  she  hushes  him.  She 
stands  near  her  door,  and  looks  up,  listening.  Martin 
jumps  up. 

ANNE 

There.     She's  locked  her  door. 

£She  goes  softly  toward  door  R.  in  background,  vnth 
motions  more  soft  and  swaying  than  one  has  seen  in 
her  before;  smiles  cunningly  and  bolts  door  vnth  greatest 


68  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

care.  Comes  forward  towards  Martin.  It  is  evident 
she  expects  him  to  hurry  towards  her.  When  he  stands 
stilly  and  looks  at  her,  she  speaks. 

ANNE 

Why  are  you  staring  at  me? 

BiABTIN 

I  am  thinking  what  brutes  they've  been  to  you. 

ANNE 

Who? 

MARTIN 

Granny  and  the  others.  How  they've  trodden  you 
under  foot.     How  they  lie  about  you. 

ANNE 

Oh!     But  they  don't  trouble  me,  when  you  are  good 
to  me.    Martin!     {Martin  goes  to  her.     They  kiss  —  a 
wild  embrace)     Don't  pity  me.     Only  love  me.     Then 
there's  nothing  to  pity. 
^A  long,  silent  embrace;  then  they  go  to  above  fire. 

MARTIN 

Anne!     How  is  this  to  end? 

ANNE 

We  needn't  think  of  that. 
MARTIN  {with  no  whining  or  complaining  tone,  here  or 

later) 

I  must,  Anne.     Some  day  our  sin  will  burst  out  and 
_  cry  to  Heaven. 

ANNE 

Don't  think  of  that  day.  A  lot  may  happen  before 
that  day. 

MARTIN 

That  day  may  be  to-morrow,  Anne.  I  feel  as  if  they 
must  read  my  sin  in  my  face. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  69 

ANNE 

What  has  your  grandmother  been  saying?  Does  she 
know  anything? 

BIARTIN 

No.    She  only  hates  you.     And  lies. 

ANNE 

Kiss  me!  {When  he  looks  away)  Then  I'll  kiss  you. 
(Kisses  him  passionately) 

MARTIN 

How  has  this  come  about?     How  could  it! 

ANNE 

It  was  written  so.  You  and  I  were  meant  for  each 
other  from  eternity.  It  is  wrong  to  interfere  with 
what  is  meant. 

MARTIN 

You  believe  God  meant  this?     To  damn  us? 

ANNE 

I  believe  —  I  believe  I  love  you.  Very  tenderly  and 
very  passionately.  I  didn't  live  before  I  met  you. 
Five  long  years,  Martin.  With  an  old  man.  And 
I'm  young.     With  my  blood  crying  out  in  me. 

MARTIN 

How  your  lips  burn!     And  your  eyes! 
[^A  violent  blast.     They  draw  closer  to  each  other,  listen- 
ing to  sounds  overhead. 

Anne  seats  herself  on  lower  end  of  settle,  draws  him  down 
to  her  feet.  She  smiles  the  whole  time,  and  one  can  hear 
her  laugh  quietly,  now  and  then.  She  passes  her  fingers 
through  his  hair. 

ANNE 

When  you  are  away,  and  I'm  thinking  of  you  — 
And  I'm  always  thinking  of  you  —  {pulling  him 
round  and  on  his  knees)  you  seem  pale  to  me.    But 


70  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

when  we  are  together,  you  are  like  a  red  flan^^  of 
passion.  Do  you  remember  the  first  time?  That 
night? 

MARTIN 

It's  in  my  mind  night  and  day.  And  the  days  before 
that,  I  used  to  go  about  trembling.  Since  I  took 
your  hand  and  felt  the  blood  throb  in  it.  You  were 
in  my  heart  whenever  I  prayed.  Always!  Every- 
where! 

ANNE 

You  have  never  known  a  woman  before  me? 

MARTIN 

Never!  Your  love  came  over  me  like  a  raging  storm. 
You  called  me,  you  drew  me  to  you.  And  I  cried 
out  to  you. 

ANNE 

And  you  came! 

MARTIN 

I   had   to.     It   was   stronger  than   I,     Anne,   Anne! 

How  we  have  sinned,  we  two !     And  yet,  if  it  were  all 

undone,    I'd    come    back    to    you.     To    your    love. 

{Throwing   himself  down,   with   his  head  in  her  lap) 

God  pity  me,  poor  sinner! 
ANNE  {passionately,  her  face  on  his  head) 

I  love  you.     I  love  you. 
MARTIN  {lifts  his  head  a  little) 

Why  must  we  be  so  unhappy?     Because  our  love  is 

so  great?     Because  I  could  love  only  you?     Because 

you  could  love  only  me?    That  is  the  greatest  sin  in 

the' world. 

ANNE 

Don't  say  that!    Don't  think  it!    Only  feel  that  we 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  71 

are  married,  body  and  soul,  blood  and  spirit.  Closer 
than  any  lovers. 

MARTIN 

And  that  you  are  my  father's  wife! 

ANNE 

His  wife!  {Turns  toward  hack  of  settle)  When  was 
I  his  wife?  Have  I  borne  him  children?  Have  I 
been  mistress  in  his  house?  I'm  not  his  wife.  I've 
been  a  bought  slave,  and  he  has  paid  too  dear  for  me. 
Can  I  help  that?    Can  you? 

MARTIN 

You  are  stronger  than  I.  You  don't  fear  sin.  But 
your  love  makes  me  afraid  —  afraid  and  remorseful. 
For  even  now,  in  your  arms,  I  am  thinking  of  him. 
(Rises)  How  is  this  to  end,  Anne?  Do  you  never 
wonder? 

ANNE 

Oh,   yes.     Now  and  then.    I  think:    "Suppose  he 
were  dead,  and  we  were  far  away  from  here,  where  no 
one  knew  us!" 
MARTIN  (not  understanding) 
Do  you  wish  he  were  dead? 

ANNE 

Wish  it?  No,  I  have  never  wished  it.  I  only  think: 
"Suppose  he  were."  (She  pulls  him  down  below  her) 
And  we  far  away!  Little  Martin,  so  pale  and  so 
afraid!  (Rises,  takes  his  head  in  her  hands,  kisses  him) 
If  I  could  bum  you  in  such  a  flame  of  passion  that  you 
would  be  blind!  And  forget  —  forget  all,  except 
that  we  belonged  to  each  other,  body  and  soul,  blood 
and  mind! 
MARTIN  (starts  up) 
Shall  we  kill  ourselves?    Both  together?    Death  can 


72  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

set  us  free.  It's  not  worse  than  what  we  are  doing 
now.     Hell  is  waiting  for  me,  whether  I  live  or  die. 

ANNE 

You  would  still  be  mine.  Even  in  hell.  I  would 
keep  you.  {Presses  him  vnldly  to  her.  Releases  him) 
There  he  comes!  {Martin  looks  about  in  confusion. 
Anne  points  to  his  books;  sits  R.  of  table.  Martin 
goes  over  to  them.  Anne  orders  almost  brutally)  Sit 
down.  {Points  to  books.  Goes  to  sideboard  at  back) 
Is  it  you,  Master  Absolon? 

ABSOLON  {without) 

Yes.     Aren't  you  in  bed  yet? 
ANNE  {outside) 

No.     Martin  and  I  are  sitting  up  for  you. 
^Goes  back  to  above  fire. 


SCENE  FIVE 

The  same.    Absolon  enters.    He  is  pale  and  weary, 
noticeably  changed  since  former  Act. 

MARTnj  {rises,  and  goes  to  meet  him) 
Good  evening,  Father.     You're  late. 
\_Takes  his  books.    Absolon  looks  at  them  both;    tries 
to  make  his  look  appear  accidental. 

ABSOLON 

Good  evening.    Thank  you  both  for  sitting  up  for 
me. 

ANNE 

Will  you  have  some  ale? 

ABSOLON 

Please.     Has  Mother  been  in  bed  long? 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  73 

[^Sits  above  table.  Anne  has  poured  ale  into  a  mug, 
and  brings  it  to  him  below  settle. 

ANNE 

A  minute  or  two.     (Goes  to  below  sideboard) 

,ABSOLON 

So?     I  was  mistaken.     I  thought  I  saw  a  light  in  her 
room  when  I  was  at  the  head  of  the  bay.     (Ha^ 
seated  himself  behind  table;   drinks) 
MARTIN  (at  bookcase) 

Has  Alderman  Gert  passed  away? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  I  trust  he  has  entered  into  his  rest.  (Bows  his 
head.     The  others  do  likewise)     It  was  a  sad  death-bed. 

MARTIN 

.'  He  confessed,  and  received  the  sacrament,  didn't  he? 

ABSOLON 

Yes.  God  granted  that.  He  died  with  a  sigh,  just 
as  the  clock  struck  nine. 

MARTIN 

Then  you've  been  staying  to  comfort  the  widow? 

ABSOLON 

Only  a  short  time. 

MARTIN 

But  it  is  long  past  ten. 

l^Anne  is  now  standing  in  the  background,  near  side- 
board. 

ABSOLON 

Is  it  so  late?  Well,  you  see  —  many  thoughts  came 
over  me  when  I  came  out  in  the  dark.  I  wanted  to 
think  them  out.  I  sent  the  clerk  on  ahead.  It's  bad 
weather  out  there.    It  blows  so  that  the  boats  are 


74  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

breaking  adrift.     But  the  sky's  the  strangest.     It's 
like  a  scrawled  scroll,  all  letters  and  signs.     God's 
finger's  writing   again,   as  it  wrote  at   Belshazzar's 
feast.     But  where  is  the  Daniel  to  interpret? 
MARTIN  (goes  up  to  Absolon) 

Father,  you  are  tired.     Won't  you  go  to  bed? 

ABSOLON 

Yes,  my  son,  I'm  tired;  but  I  can't  rest.  I'm  come 
from  a  dead  man,  Martin.  I've  taken  his  last  con- 
fession. (Rises  and  goes  to  above  settle  at  fire,  warms 
himself)  I've  taken  many  in  my  time,  Martin.  A 
priest  sits  by  many  death-beds  in  thirty-five  years. 
And  his  wasn't  the  worst,  though  he  was  a  hard 
character.  (Sits)  My  God,  what  is  this  life,  after 
all?  When  it  goes  by,  and  the  accounts  are  made  up? 
Sin  and  vice,  open  and  secret.  A  moment's  joy, 
paid  for  by  years  of  remorse.  If  I  could  add  together 
all  the  wailing  from  those  death-beds,  it  would  go  up 
like  a  cry  to  heaven:  "Lord,  why  didst  Thou  let  me 
be  born?"  (Below  chair) 
MARTIN  (coming  over  to  back  of  settle,  to  Absolon) 

Father,  you  should  have  let  me  go  to  the  Alderman, 
as  I  begged  you. 

ABSOLON 

No,  my  son.  I  couldn't  allow  that.  When  you 
grow  older,  you'll  find  black  depths  in  yourself  which 
you  will  have  to  go  down  to  in  fear  and  pain.  Down 
to  the  very  depths.  You  won't  be  able  to  help  men 
in  the  anguish  of  death  till  you  have  gone  down  those 
deep  places  in  your  own  soul  —  and  come  up  again 
to  the  light.  And  when  you  have  been  that  journey, 
you'll  have  been  sorely  tried.  Perhaps  you'll  long 
for  rest  yourself. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  75 

MARTIN 

Father,  you're  talking  very  strangely  to-night.  Are 
you  ill? 

ABSOLON 

Not  bodily.  But  I  feel  a  sort  of  fearful  expectation 
over  me.  We  should  always  think  of  death.  But 
sometimes  we  feel  that  he  came  close  by  us  —  and 
plucked  our  sleeve. 

MARTIN 

Is  that  how  you  feel  to-night? 

ABSOLON 

Perhaps  it  was  coming  from  the  death-bed  in  such 
wild  weather.  And  then  that  strange  sky.  But  as  I 
was  crossing  the  bay  —  {Anne  comes  down  to  back  of 
table  and  follows  his  words  with  strange  excitement)  it 
seemed  as  if  a  message  came  to  me.  From  the  Lord 
of  Life  and  Death.  I  didn't  hear  anything.  There 
was  no  sign.  I  felt  it  in  my  inmost  soul.  "Now 
my  death  is  determined.  Now  my  death  is  deter- 
mined." 

MARTIN 

Father!  My  dear  Father!  You  mustn't  talk  like 
that.     You're  tired  and  ill.     Let  me  help  you  to  bed. 

ABSOLON 

No,  I'm  not  ill.  But  I  am  going  to  die  soon.  And 
it's  a  mercy  of  God  to  warn  me.  (Rises)  Well. 
Now  we'll  all  go  to  bed.  Good  night,  my  boy.  Thank 
you  for  sitting  up. 

BIARTIN 

Good  night.  Father.  I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  night's 
rest,  and  get  rid  of  these  thoughts.  I  wish  I  could 
lift  them  from  you. 


76  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ABSOLON 

Oh  —  you  have  your  own  troubles.  Each  age  has 
its  own  to  bear.  God  knows  whether  youth's  are  the 
easiest.  Good  night,  my  dear  boy.  (Comes  down 
below  settle  to  Bible  at  R.     Standing) 

MARTIN  . 

Good  night,  Anne  Pedersdotter. 

ANNE 

Good  night,  Martin. 

[^Goes   up   C;    gets  extinguisher.      Martin   takes  leave 

once  more,  and  goes  out  at  door  in  background  C.  to  L. 

SCENE  SIX 

The  same.  Anne  puts  out  one  of  the  candles  on  table, 
so  only  the  one  on  L.  remains  burning.  Sets  a  beer-jug 
on  sideboard. 

Absolon,  waiting  for  her  to  be  ready,  goes  to  table,  where 
the  Bible  lies  open  after  Martin's  reading. 

ABSOLON  (at  Bible) 

Was  this  Martin's  text  this  evening? 

ANNE 

Yes.     (Near  sideboard) 

ABSOIiON 

It's  a  beautiful  text.     "Sown  in  corruption,  raised  in 
incorruption.     Sown  in  dishonour,  raised  in  glory." 
[^Anne  is  through  vnth  putting  to  rights.     She  remains 
standing  with  back  to  sideboard. 

ANNE 

You  shouldn't  think  so  intensely  about  death,  Absolon. 
At  night,  on  such  a  night  as  this,  it  makes  one  so 
anxious. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  77 

ABSOLON 

No.     But  I  can't  get  away  from  it.     {In   low   tone 

repeating  several  times)     Now  my  death  is  determined. 
ANNE  {coming  forward) 

But  who  would  wish  you  dead? 
ABSOLON  (a  little  wonderingly) 

Wish  me  dead.!*     No,  who  indeed?     Do  you  wish  me 

dead,  Anne? 

ANNE 

I!     Why? 

ABSOLON  {moving  a  little  from  her) 

No  —  why?  {Comes  to  L.  of  chair  at  C.)  For  I've 
been  a  good  husband  to  you,  Anne.  But  I  sometimes 
feel  as  though  you  might  have  reason  to  wish  me 
dead.  Since  that  evening  in  spring,  when  I  told  you 
about  your  mother,  I  have  had  so  many  strange 
thoughts.  And  then,  you  have  changed  so.  That's 
why  I've  been  thinking  —    {Comes  to  R.  of  chair;  sits) 

ANNE  {excited,  almost  curious) 
What  have  you  been  thinking? 

ABSOLON 

First,  that  I've  done  you  a  great  wrong.  Did  I  ask 
you  to  marry  me?  I  bought  you  and  paid  for  you 
because  I  was  blinded  by  your  beauty.  I've  been 
like  King  David  when  he  was  old.  When  he  took  a 
young  wife.  {Anne  stands  back  of  table;  her  face  lighted 
by  the  candle,  is  turned  to  audience.  And  while  Absolon 
talks,  his  words  have  on  her  an  effect  just  the  opposite 
of  that  intended.  For  his  words  judify  to  her  her 
thoughts.  At  last  he  also  has  seen  what  v>rong  has 
been  done  to  her.  Now  she  nods  slowly,  but  says 
nothing)  Nor  have  I  been  as  good  a  husband  as  I 
should  have  been.    My  mother  has  been  too  managing 


78  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

about  the  house.    It's  only  lately  I've  begun  to  use  my 
eyes.     Perhaps  she  hasn't  always  been  kind  to  you? 

ANNE 

No.     But  I  haven't  mmded  that  much. 

ABSOLON 

No.  No.  —  But  I  took  your  youth  without  payment. 
Since  Martin  came  home  —  since  I've  heard  you  two 
together,  I  know  how  different  your  words  and  voice 
have  been.  I  know  what  an  old  man  I  am  beside  you. 
{Anne  casts  a  glance  at  him)  One  day  this  summer, 
I  was  down  in  the  garden.  I  heard  you  laugh.  It 
went  through  me  like  a  knife.  "That's  the  first 
time  I've  heard  her  laugh!"  You  hadn't  much  joy 
with  your  mother.  You've  had  none  with  me.  But 
I  can't  undo  that  wrong,  Anne.  So  that  was  why  I 
asked,  "Do  you  never  wish  me  dead?"  {Anne  does 
not  answer  —  only  looks  at  him.  He  draws  back  in 
his  chair  before  her  look)  Yes,  I've  much  cause  to 
ask  you  to  forgive  me. 
ANNE  {who  is  driven  by  his  words  to  a  desperation  full  of 
hate,  says,  looking  straight  at  him) 
And  shall  I,  Master  Absolon  —  shall  I  forgive?  For 
you're  right  in  every  word  you  say.  You  stole  my 
youth  that  it  might  cool  your  old  man's  fever  of  love 
—  for  nothing  else.  You  robbed  me  of  joy.  Joy. 
Oh,  you've  been  a  good  husband  to  me.  {Laughs. 
Comes  slowly  towards  him)  You've  never  beaten  me. 
Never  pulled  my  hair.  Never  once.  But  have  you 
given  me  one  happy  moment?  {With  increasing  vehe- 
mence, but  without  raising  her  voice)  I've  burnt  with 
passion.  {Comes  slowly  down  to  L.  end  of  table,  facing 
him)  I've  cried  out  for  some  one  to  love.  Any  one. 
Even  a  httle  child.     You  didn't  even  give  me  that. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  79 

To  wither  away  —  to  dry-rot  —  that  was  the  fate  you 
marked  out  for  me.  That  I  might  be  burned  dry  by 
the  fire  in  my  blood.  Yes,  Mr.  Absolon.  I  have 
wished  you  dead.  Often.  A  hundred  times.  Wished 
you  dead  when  you  fondled  me.  Wished  you  dead 
going  from  me  and  coming  back  to  me.  And  I've 
wished  it  most  since  your  son  has  come  home.  Now 
you  know  it!  Now  you  know  it!  I've  given  myself 
to  your  son.  Now  you  know  it!  (Staring  intensely 
into  his  face,  as  if  she  would  pierce  him  to  death,  and 
saying  to  him  quietly  and  terribly)  I  wish  you  dead. 
I  wish  you  dead. 

^Absolon  has  sat  as  if  petrified  by  her  words  and  look. 
At  her  words  "/  have  given  myself  to  him",  he  starts  up, 
grasps  convulsively  at  his  heart,  then  sinks  vnth  a  heavy 
fall  into  the  chair  again.  His  eyes  stare,  wide  open; 
then  the  body  bends  forward,  a  deep  sigh,  and  the  body 
sinks  down,  the  arms  hang  loosely  down  outside  the  chair. 
Anne  stands  looking  at  him  for  a  moment;  does  not  at 
once  grasp  what  has  happened.  Then  terror  seizes  her, 
as  she  understands  and  looks  into  the  glazing  eyes. 
She  tries  to  cry  out,  but  can  produx:e  no  sound.  At  last 
she  cries  out. 

ANNE 

Help! 

SCENE  SEVEN 

The  same.  Martin  appears  a  moment  after  in  the  door 
at  the  back;  rushes  forward  dovm  to  L.  The  door  is  left 
open. 

MARTIN 

What  is  it? 

^Anne  rushes  to  him  and  clings  to  him. 


80  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

ANNE 

Dead.     He's  dead! 

MARTIN 

O  God  in  Heaven! 

[_He  will  go  to  his  father.  Anne  prevents  him.  The 
two  now  stand  out  on  stage  to  R.  of  table,  she  clinging  to 
him. 

During  the  foregoing,  which  is  played  vrith  feverish  haste, 
Merete  is  seen  hurrying  down  the  stairs.  She  comes  in. 
Looks  around  in  confusion.  Moves  forward,  before  the 
table,  to  Absolon.  Understands.  Does  not  cry  out. 
Draws  herself  to  her  full  height,  turns  towards  the  two, 
and  says  to  Anne. 

MERETE 

You've     murdered    him,     Anne     Pedersdotter.     For 
you  .  .  .  and  he  .  .  .  (points  to  Martin)  yon  two  .  .  . 
Oh,  Jesus,  Mary! 
[^Sinks  down  on  the  bench  beside  her  son's  body. 

CURTAIN 


THE  FOURTH  ACT 

SCENE  ONE 

Choir  in  Bergen's  Cathedral. 

Seen  on  face  as  if  the  main  hall  of  the  theater  were  the 
nave.  To  R.  and  L.  in  foreground  the  choir  widens  out, 
vnth  low  doors  on  each  side.  In  background  the  altar  with 
altarpiece.  Before  it  the  communion  rails  and  steps. 
Before  the  altar  steps  are  placed  benches  and  chairs  in  a 
row.  The  altar  and  place  before  it  are  raised  three  or  four 
steps  above  the  floor.  On  both  sides  stained-glass  loindows. 
In  middle  of  stage  Absolon's  bier  —  not  casket.  This  is 
placed  on  an  elevation  of  three  or  four  steps,  so  that  the 
head  of  the  deceased  —  apparently  —  is  towards  footlights. 
Over  the  body  a  black  pall  decorated  vnth  silver,  covering 
the  body  and  the  whole  bier,  and  falling  on  both  sides  down 
to  the  steps.     One  chair  on  each  side  in  the  foreground. 

It  is  morning,  and  the  church  is  half-dark.  The  only 
light  is  a  torch  stuck  into  the  wall  to  the  right. 

Martin  kneeling  on  steps  before  altar.  Anne  comes  in 
cautiously  through  door  at  L. 

ANNE 

Martin!     (Goes  up  to  him,  passing  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  bier.     Talks  hurriedly  in  low  tone)     I  must 
speak  to  you.     I  can't  bear  it  any  longer. 
MARTIN  (has  risen  and  approaches  Anne.     They  stand  in 
the  foreground  at  R.     Light  from  the  torch) 
Nor  can  I.     But  I  dread  what  we  have  to  say. 

ANNE 

I  know  you  do.     You  shun  me  everywhere. 


82  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN 

I  shun  everybody;  myself  most.  I  can  only  find 
peace  here,  by  Father's  body.  I  can  forget  my 
thoughts  here  by  praying  for  forgiveness.  Praying  to 
God  and  him.  Anne,  we  two  ought  to  grovel  down 
here,  to  beg  for  mercy. 

ANNE 

Why  ought  I  to  beg  him  (points)  for  forgiveness? 
We've  nothing  to  fear  from  the  dead.  But  the  living, 
Martin  — 

MARTIN 

Merete? 

ANNE 

Yes.  Merete  Beyer.  You  remember  what  she  said 
that  night.''  She's  said  it  again  to  me  since.  She  says 
I  killed  him.  And  more  than  that.  She's  mad  with 
hate  of  me,  Martin.  She  wants  my  life,  Martin. 
You  protect  me.  She  can't  do  anything  against  his 
son.  But  if  you  fail  me  — 
MARTIN  (seizes  her  by  the  wrist  and  leads  her  to  foreground 
at  R.) 
Anne.     He  is  dead,  now. 

ANNE 

Yes.    Yes. 

MARTIN 

You  remember  what  you  said,  "Suppose  he  were 
dead." 

ANNE 

Martin! 

MARTIN 

Did  you  wish  him  dead,  Anne? 

ANNE 

I  didn't  love  him.    He  stood  in  my  way.    Can  you 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  83 

wonder  if  I  wished  him  out  of  my  way?  I  can't  be 
blamed  for  every  wish  which  passes  in  my  mind. 

MARTIN 

Don't  harden  your  heart,  Anne.  Listen  to  me,  just 
as  you  would  to  some  one  dying.  For  I'm  almost 
dying.  Or  going  mad.  (Goes  to  R.  of  bier)  Since 
God  called  him,  I've  been  ground  between  the  mill- 
stones. Our  sins  have  ground  me,  body  and  soul, 
till  there's  no  life  left  in  me.  There's  nothing  but 
terror  and  remorse  in  me.  While  he  was  alive  I 
could  wrong  him.  I  could  see  that  I  was  right,  up  to 
a  point.  I  didn't  trouble  about  him,  while  I  was  with 
you.  (Anne  coining  slowly  C.)  But  now  he  is  right. 
He  has  all  the  right.  He  is  up  before  God  as  my 
accuser.  (Leans  his  head  against  the  bier,  sobbing) 
He  stood  in  our  way,  you  said.  Can  we  ever  get  past 
him?     (Touches  bier)     Past  this? 

ANNE 

Will  you  give  me  up?     (Her  hands  out) 
MARTIN  (coming  to  her) 

We  can't  give  each  other  up !  We're  mingled,  you  and 
I.  But  we  shall  never  come  together.  And  never  be 
free  of  this.  (A  step  to  R.  of  bier)  But,  Anne,  there's 
something  else.  (Anne  draws  back)  You've  wished 
his  death.     Did  you  wish  it,  I  mean,  so  as  to  kill  him? 

ANNE 

Martin !     (Her  voice  breaks  with  fear) 

MARTIN 

Had  you  the  power  for  that,  Anne?  Answer  me. 
Can't  you?  For  God's  sake,  answer!  Answer  me 
just  as  though  he  stood  here. 

ANNE 

Martin,  are  you  calUng  me  —  what  Merete  called  me? 


84  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

MARTIN 

Yes.     {A  step  to  R.)     It's  eaten  into  my  heart.     Anne, 
what  if  we  three  —  what  if  we'd  been  a  three  against 
him?  —  I,  and  you,  and  Satan? 
ANNE  {in  feverish  haste) 

Martin.  Look  here,  Martin.  Rouse  yourself;  you're 
talking  craziness.  You've  not  slept  for  four  nights. 
You're  wild  with  grief  and  trouble,  or  you'd  not  talk 
like  that.  Look  at  me,  Martin.  I  love  you.  That's 
my  only  crime.  That's  the  only  thing  I've  done 
wrong.  I  didn't  kill  him.  God  took  him.  Yes, 
I  wished  it.  But  that  couldn't  kill  him.  Martin, 
you  mustn't  give  me  up.  It's  death.  It's  torture. 
I  swear  to  you  I  never  killed  him.  (In  terror)  I 
shall  be  burnt  if  you  fail  me,  Martin!  (Forces  herself 
to  quiet)  Don't  drive  me  mad.  I  love  you.  That's 
all.  I  loved  you.  And  you  loved  me.  If  we  sinned 
together,  we  must  stand  together.  Martin,  I  didn't 
kill  him.  I  didn't.  I'm  telling  the  truth.  I  couldn't 
have.  I  hadn't  the  power.  I  never  wanted  the 
power.     Believe  me,  Martin.     (Takes  his  hand) 

MARTIN 

Annie,  Annie  dear!  I'm  tired,  so  tired.  But  when 
I'm  near  you,  and  you  talk  to  me,  I  believe  you. 
Look  me  in  the  eyes,  Annie.  You're  not  lying.  Tell 
me.  By  the  coffin  here.  Say  that,  whatever  we  may 
have  done,  you've  not  done  that.  Not  called  Hell 
to  help  us. 
ANNE  (in  terror,  tries  to  speak  solemnly;  but  it  becomes  only 
the  eagerness  of  fear.  She  goes  past  him  to  the  body) 
I  swear  by  all  that's  holy,  with  my  hand  on  the 
coffin.  (Stretches  out  her  hand  towards  bier,  but  does 
not  touch  it;  she  draws  back  her  hand  as  though  it  were 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  85 

burnt)  Oh,  oh,  you  must  beheve  me!  You  must 
be  good  to  me,  whatever  the  others  say. 

MARTIN 

I  promise  you  that. 

ANNE 

Don't  despair,  Martin.  He'd  have  forgiven  us.  I 
know  he  would.     He  knew  what  love  can  be. 

MARTIN 

Father!     Father! 

ANNE 

He's  not  accusing  you  to  God.  He  prays  for  us. 
He  sees  how  we  suffer.  Wait.  You'll  see.  There'll 
be  brighter  days  for  us.  We  can't  believe  it  now. 
But  there  will  be. 

MARTIN 

Would  to  God  I  lay  where  he  lies! 
\^The  bells  begin  to  ring  softly;  subdued  organ  music,  as 
though  the  organist  tried  the  tones. 
ANNE  (listening) 

They'll  all  be  here  now,  soon.  (In  fear,  but  vnth  a 
ring  of  menace  in  her  voice)     You  won't  betray  me? 

MARTIN 

If  I  betray  you,  I  betray  myself.     Would  to  God  we 

were  through  with  this! 

[Looks  at  her.    Exits  R.  foreground. 

SCENE  TWO 

The  same.     Anne  alone. 
Muffled  organ  music,  low  tolling  of  bells. 
ANNE  {stands  first  looking  after  Martin.     Then  her  whole 
appearance  changes.     She  goes  to  the  bier,  and  up  the 
steps.     About  to  remove  the  pall,  but  does  not  do  so. 


86  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

She  bends  over  the  bier,  talks  interruptedly,  in  a  low 
tone,  facing  audience) 

Absolon,  Absolon!  My  husband  and  master!  If  you 
hear  me,  forgive  me.  If  I'm  guilty.  You  took  me, 
when  you  loved  me.  I  took  myself  back  when  I 
loved  some  one  —  not  you  —  in  my  turn.  That  was 
just.  You  were  always  just.  You  must  be  just  now 
that  you're  dead.  And  if  I'm  guilty,  you  must  be 
merciful.  For  I'm  young,  Absolon.  You  took  five 
years  of  my  youth.  You  mustn't  revenge  yourself. 
I  didn't  kill  you.  (Words  vnll  no  longer  come.  Goes 
from  the  bier,  dovm  the  steps,  looking  half  backwards, 
as  if  afraid  the  dead  should  rise  and  call  her  liar)  I 
didn't  call  the  Devil,  nor  any  Satan's  art,  I  didn't. 
(Comes  dovm  on  the  floor  and  a  little  from  the  bier,  then 
turns  suddenly  in  fear  and  defiance,  and  shakes  her  fist 
at  the  dead)  You  did  it.  You  did  it  yourself.  Tell- 
ing me  of  the  power  that  Mother  had.  (Suddenly 
changing  her  manner  and  sinking  on  her  knees)  Jesus, 
save  me!  I  won't  die!  Merete  mustn't  speak,  and 
Martin  mustn't  fail  me !     Jesus !     Have  pity ! 

SCENE  THREE 
The  same. 

Sacristans  come  in  from  L.  One  of  them  sets  a  lighted 
torch  in  the  wall  at  L.  Others  light  all  the  candles,  see  that 
chairs  and  benches  are  in  order;  then  go  out  again. 

Anne  steals,  half  kneeling,  to  the  bier  when  the  Sacristans 
appear;  lies  there  praying  half  aloud,  crouching  and 
trembling. 

Merete,  leaning  on  a  stick,  followed  by  Martin,  enters 
from  R.  Goes  towards  Anne,  looks  at  her.  Anne  rises; 
the  two  women  measure  each  other. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  87 

Merete  passes  the  bier,  bowing  as  she  does  so,  then  seats 
herself  in  the  foreground  to  L. 

Anne  and  Martin  stand  to  R.  of  the  bier  to  receive  those 
who  come. 

SCENE  FOUR 

As  before.  Bishop  Jens  Skjelderup,  Priests,  among 
them  Jorgen,  Johannes,  Claus,  Laurentius;  Aldermen, 
Feudal  Lord,  Higher  Officials,  and  their  wives  enter  on 
R.,  greet  those  present,  and  arrange  themselves  according 
to  rank  on  benches  and  chairs  before  the  altar.  A  few 
women  on  a  bench  near  Merete. 

Anne  goes  to  a  chair  in  foreground  to  R.  Martin  stands 
nearer  the  bier  to  R.  David,  singing-master,  and  his 
choristers  {schoolboys  dressed  in  black)  march  in.  David 
arranges  them  round  the  bier,  and  directs  with  quiet  motions 
the  singing  of  the  follounng  hymn.  During  the  march  and 
arranging  of  the  choristers,  the  organ  has  played  a  prelude. 
There  has  been  soft  music  during  Anne's  monologue. 
After  entrance  and  arranging  of  places  and  singers,  and 
all  have  risen,  a  moment's  silence  follows.  Then  follows 
the  psalm,  sung  by  all  on  the  stage,  accompanied  by  organ 
and  wind  instruments. 

Jam  maesta  quiescat  querela, 
Lacrymas  suspendite  matres, 
Nullus  sua  pignora  planget 
Mors  haec  separatio  vitae  est. 

Veniant  mode  tempora  justa, 
Spem  Deus  impleat  omnem, 
Reddas  patefacta  necesse  est 
Qualem  tibi  trade  figuram. 


88  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

All  seat  themselves.  The  choirmaster  and  choristers 
(these  may  be  omitted)  retire. 

Martin  comes  forward  to  the  bier.  At  first  his  words 
have  the  softness  natural  to  accepted  forms,  but  at  the  same 
time  he  is  deeply  affected  and  trembling. 

MARTIN 

Friends!  Brothers!  Right  Reverend  Bishop  and 
reverend  Brothers  in  God!  As  son  and  heir  of  our 
dead  brother  here,  I  thank  you  for  coming  here,  to 
this  holy  place,  to  follow  him  to  his  grave.  It  is  not 
for  me  to  praise  him  and  tell  of  him.  My  heart  is 
too  full  of  sorrow  for  him.  I  know  what  I  have  lost 
in  him.  I  know  what  he  has  been  to  me.  I  thank 
God  for  all  he  was  to  me.  I  ask  forgiveness  if  I've 
done  anything  to  offend  him.  (His  talk  loses  more  and 
more  its  formal  character,  and  becomes  a  heartfelt  con- 
fession) Father  was  greater  and  better  than  most 
men.  You  were  such  a  father  to  me  that  all  my  life 
should  be  a  thanksgiving  to  you.  Now  that  you  are 
dead,  my  heart  is  pierced  by  the  memory  of  all  I've 
done  wrong.  And  griefs  I've  caused  you.  If  you 
were  only  alive  again  I'd  be  a  better  son,  Father.  My 
brothers,  reverend  brothers,  I'm  talking  in  a  way  — 
not  a  usual  way  here.  Forgive  it.  You  knew  my 
father.  You  know  what  he  was  to  you;  you'll  know 
what  he  must  have  been  to  me.  You'll  forgive  me 
giving  more  thought  to  him  than  to  you,  who  come 
here  out  of  love  for  him. 

BISHOP  (forward  from  his  place) 

My  son !  We  all  understand.  We  know  what  you've 
lost,  and  what  the  Church  and  the  land  have  lost  in 
your  dead  father  here.     Go  now  to  his   wife   and 


ANNE   PEDERSDOTTER  89 

mother,  to  comfort  them  in  their  sorrow,  and  we  will 
pray  here  before  we  carry  him  to  the  grave. 
\^Merete  has  risen  and  gone  a  step  towards  the  bier; 
seems  to  pierce  Martin  ivith  her  eyes. 

MARTIN  {collects  Mmself) 

May  I  say  one  thing  more,  my  Lord  Bishop? 

BISHOP  (a  little  surprised) 

If  you  wish,  my  son.     (Steps  back) 

MABTIN  (whose  words  are  followed  with  breathless  interest 
by  Anne  and  Merete.  Merete  has  again  seated  herself) 
The  ways  of  the  Lord  are  inscrutable.  We  thought 
that  if  any  one  should  have  been  granted  a  peaceful 
death,  as  a  crowning  mercy,  it  would  have  been  my 
poor  father  here,  but  the  Lord  willed  it  otherwise. 
He  was  taken  suddenly,  by  a  sudden  death.  Without 
confession  and  without  sacrament.  It  is  not  for  us 
to  weep.  God's  ways  are  not  ours.  But  evil  reports 
must  be  hindered.  So  I  come  forward  according  to 
the  Church's  custom,  and  the  law  of  the  land,  to  make 
my  declaration.  I,  the  son  and  heir  of  this  dead  man, 
make  oath  and  say:  Let  you,  the  clergy,  lords  and 
commons  of  this  diocese,  bear  witness.  As  God  sees 
me  and  as  men  hear  me,  no  human  being  is  to  blame 
for  my  father's  sudden  death.  (Merete  has  risen  and 
goes  a  step  or  two  towards  him.  Anne  breathes  heavily^ 
and  sends  a  glance  towards  Merete.  All  the  others 
remain  unmoved;  it  is  evident  they  have  listened  only  to 
a  well-known  formula.  Martin  speaks  with  rising 
intensity.  He  would  with  his  words  form  a  wall  round 
Anne,  against  Merete)  He  died  suddenly  —  his  heart 
failed  —  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  Anne  Peders- 
dotter.  His  mother,  Merete  Beyer,  and  I  were  with 
him  before  his  eyes  closed.     I  have  said  it  once.     I 


90  ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER 

now  repeat  it.  He  died  peacefully.  And  a  third 
time.  I  ask  you  all  to  bear  witness.  He  died  peace- 
fully.    May  he  rest  in  peace.     {Comes  down  to  L.C.) 

BISHOPS,  ETC. 

Amen. 

{_Bisho'p  about  to  approach  the  bier. 

MERETE  (stops  Mm  with  a  wave  of  the  hand) 

No,  Bishop  Jens.  You  must  wait  a  moment.  I'll 
speak  now.  (All  rise  in  astonishment)  If  the  son 
won't  defend  his  father,  the  mother  shall.  (Under 
increasing  horror  on  the  part  of  all  present,  she  goes  to 
the  bier,  up  the  steps,  and  standing  near  the  head,  she 
says)  What  Martin  has  said  there  is  a  lie.  It's  a 
lie.  My  son  did  not  die  peacefully.  My  dead  son 
here  was  murdered.  Murdered  by  a  witch  and  the 
Devil's  help.  (Horror  and  alarm.  Solemnly)  I  de- 
clare before  heaven  and  earth  that  this  dead  man 
was  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  days.  I  say  it  once, 
twice,  three  times.  He  was  murdered.  Murdered 
by  witchcraft.  Murdered  by  his  wife,  Anne  Peders- 
dotter.  Murdered  by  her  there.  (Bishop  comes 
slowly  down  L.  of  bier)  I  ask  life  for  life,  death  for 
death,  blood  for  blood.  Death  and  the  stake  for  the 
witch  there. 

[^Sensation.  The  women  go  forward  round  her.  All 
is  now  confusion.  Martin  has  drawn  near  Anne. 
Anne  seizes  his  right  hand. 

BISHOP  (voice  heard  over  the  noise) 
Peace  in  God's  House. 

MABTIN 

Don't  listen  to  her.  She's  mad.  (Continues  with 
loud  voice)  I  will  answer  for  Anne  Pedersdotter. 
She  had  no  part  in  Father's  death. 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  91 

BISHOP  (coming  forward) 

You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  Merete  Beyer,  for  acting  like 
this.  Hate  and  sorrow  have  driven  you  mad.  But  to 
lie  like  that  in  God's  House,  by  your  own  son's  coiOSn! 

MERETE  (freeing  herself  from  the  women) 

I'm  not  lying,  Bishop  Jens.  God  strike  me  dead  if 
I'm  lying. 

MARTIN 

Don't  listen  to  her.  Is  it  likely  that  I'd  leave  my 
father  unavenged  in  order  to  defend  my  stepmother? 

MERETE 

Yes,  very  likely.    For  you're  in  her  power,  too.     (To 

the  others)     I'll  tell  you  why  he  defends  her.    She  has 

bewitched  him,  too.     I  denounce  her  as  a  witch.     She 

killed  the  father.     She  has  seduced  the  son.    Let  her 

deny  it  if  she  dare. 

[_The  stillness  of  death.    Martin  and  Anne  look  at  each 

other. 
BISHOP  (low  voice  heard  in  the  stillness) 

Lord,  Lord! 
MARTIN  (draws  slowly  back,  says  in  a  low  tone,  in  horror) 

By  witchcraft!    By  witchcraft! 
ANNE  (cries  out) 

Martin! 

[^Martin  drawing  near  the  foot  of  the  bier.    Anne  stands 

quite  alone  on  R.  side;    aU  have  unconsciously  drawn 

away  from  her. 
BISHOP  (forward  to  L.  side  of  bier) 

Anne  Pedersdotter.    What  do  you  say  to  this,  Anne 

Pedersdotter? 
ANNE  (looking  not  at  the  Bishop  bui  at  Martin;  in  a  dull 

voice) 

It  —  is  —  all  a  lie.    I  haven't.    No,  I  haven't. 


92  ANNE   PEDERSDOTTER 

BISHOP  (looks  about  in  horror  from  Anne  to  Martin  and 
Merete.  His  glance  falls  on  the  bier.  An  idea  strikes 
him.  He  says  slowly  and  with  emphasis) 
This  is  an  unusual  case.  We  may  go  unusual  ways. 
And  expect  a  sign  from  God.  You  have  heard  the 
accusation,  Anne  Pedersdotter.  The  dead  man  is  lying 
here  in  his  coffin.  All  the  power  and  dominion  of  this 
diocese  is  present  here.  I  pronounce  that  you  prove 
your  guilt  or  innocence  by  the  test  of  touching  the 
dead.  We  will  pray  God  to  bring  us  to  the  truth. 
(All  indicate  approval)  If  any  one  here  disapprove  of 
the  test,  let  him  come  forward  and  give  his  reasons. 
(Pause)  If  anybody  here  will  refuse  to  accept  such 
a  test  as  decisive,  let  him  speak.  (Pau^e)  Anne 
Pedersdotter,  are  you  ready  and  willing  to  be  tried  by 
such  a  test? 

ANNE  (still  looking  at  Martin) 
Yes. 

[^AU  draw  back.  For  a  moment  they  look  in  silence  ai 
Anne. 

The  bells  begin  to  ring  with  heavy  strokes.  The  sun 
comes  up  over  the  mountain,  shining  through  the  udndow. 
Anne  approaches  the  bier. 

All  in  great  excitement.  They  come  slowly  forward  to 
R.  and  to  L.,  in  order  to  be  able  to  see  the  result  of  the 
test.  To  L.,  in  foreground,  are  the  Bishop  and  Merete. 
Martin  has  sunk  down  at  the  back  edge  of  bier. 
Anne  goes  up  the  steps,  is  about  to  raise  the  paU  from 
the  face,  but  does  not  do  it.     Stands  upright. 

ANNE 

Absolon,  my  husband  and  master.  I  have  —  I 
have  —  you  know  it  —  you  know  it.  (With  her  hand 
on  the  forehead  of  the  corpse)     I  bear  witness.     I  bear 


ANNE  PEDERSDOTTER  93 

witness.  (Sits  and  talks  to  corpse,  quite  mad)  So 
you  got  your  revenge,  Absolon.  Now  I've  no  one. 
Yes.  I  murdered  you  by  witchcraft.  And  I  be- 
witched your  son.  I  got  your  son  into  my  power. 
By  witchcraft.  —  Now  you  know  it.  Now  you  know 
it. 

[^Straightens  up,  sits  on  the  edge  of  biery  and  smiles. 
From  a  vnndow  high  up  a  sunbeam  falls  on  her  pale 
face. 

CURTAIN 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  Isook  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


AUG  2  4  1953 
m  24  t95ff 


Form  L9 — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  C  \L  FQENIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


PT 

8950 
W6A.6E 
1917 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAOLITY 


A    001  269  293    5 


